


The Reluctant Prince

by brianna441



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brianna441/pseuds/brianna441
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapped and imprisoned by unknown forces, Blair, a young teacher, is thrown into court intrigues meant to topple a kingdom.  And, along the way, he meets the Captain of the Royal Guard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reluctant Prince

## The Reluctant Prince

#### by Shamaness

  
I disclaim any knowledge of what I'm doing. There, how's that?   
Some minor adjustments have been made to the zine story. Therefore, all errors are mine alone.   
  
Originally published as a zine by Devious Developments Press. Thanks go to Bast for putting the story out there. Thanks to Susan for listening to me prattle on about the story while I was writing it. Thanks to Gayle for supplying tips on the sex scenes. And thanks to the ladies of MoCon for for betaing the story. If you want honest opinions, gather seven of your closest friend around a table, let them read the story and have them tell you what's wrong with it. :)   
All feedback is welcomed to the above email address or directly to the author at shamaness@aol.com  
A "Sentinalized" version of the Dumas classic "The Man In The Iron Mask"

* * *

Prologue 

In the quiet hours before dawn, when the earth and its denizens still lay wrapped in slumber, four men rode quickly through the countryside, leading a riderless horse behind them. 

Dressed in naked black, no crests or banners declared their allegiance. Their leather gauntlets and boots bore no markings. Even the baldrics, worn across their chests to secure their swords at their sides, were unadorned. 

Over rolling hills, through small woods and open fields, they rode to their destination, on a mission simple in its execution and frightening in its consequence. 

* * *

On a small estate in the county of Dryden, a young man slept, unaware of the happenings to come. His long brown curls cascaded over his pillow, a smile of pleasant dreams touching his lips: his was the sleep of innocence. 

A solitary man of modest means, he was a scholar, searching endlessly for knowledge, absorbing information gathered from far and wide. His favorite pastime was teaching local children, passing on his vast knowledge to the next generation. 

His small, cluttered bedroom was strewn with books, scrolls and parchments, some partially covered in his scrawling handwriting, some covered in writing far older. 

Outside the cottage, three men moved silently across the open ground, heading for the front door, their movements barely visibly in the pre-dawn darkness. At an agreed upon signal they pushed through the opening, one man grabbing the unsuspecting servant, a hand across his mouth keeping him silent. The other two men moved quietly up the stairs to pause before the bedroom door. With a deep breath and a nod of agreement, they burst into the bedroom and, with swords drawn, pulled the startled young man from his bed. 

"Who...who are you? What do you want of me?" 

The young man's befuddled questions went unanswered as one of the men tossed clothing at him, the unspoken command obvious. Once dressed, his hands were secured behind his back and the men dragged him outside. At the sight of the horses, he began to struggle, shouting questions, demanding answers until one of his captors pulled a cloth bag over his head and, with the help of the other two, manhandled him onto the waiting horse. 

The three men mounted their own steeds then looked to the ridge, to the fourth man sitting silently, watching the proceedings. 

* * *

The Captain of the King's Royal Guards needed not the sunlight to see clearly. Even from this distance he could see the confusion on the young man's face, could clearly hear his questions as he struggled against his captors. Watching as his men secured the prisoner, for that was what the young man was, he gave a nod and wave of acknowledgement, sending the four men on their way. 

He continued to watch, a look of concern on his face. This was a drastic move, one he did not like making. But a man in his position must sometimes do things he did not enjoy. Sometimes the greater good called for drastic measures. 

His eyes followed the horsemen until they disappeared beyond the rise then he turned his horse and rode off in the opposite direction. 

* * *

Chapter One 

The Kingdom of Wyndmoor was a land of contrasts. Separated from its neighbor by mountains in the east and south and the Great Ocean to the north and west, it had existed in relative peace for over one hundred years. 

Rolling hills and pastoral countryside surrounded small towns and villages. Large farms, owned by lesser nobility and worked by serfs and peasants grew up along side smaller plots of land worked by independent farmers. Forests separated the farmlands from the mountains. And, nearer the cities, large manors and estates of the upper nobility graced the land in splendor. 

The capital city of Dresher was also a contrast. The cobblestone streets were crowded with the poor and desolate. The working class, crammed into one and two room dwellings, moved about their labors, doing their best to earn enough to provide for their families. 

The Royal palace of King Ryen VI, however, was a vast structure. Surrounded by manicured gardens, there were stables for more than a hundred horses, riding pens, archery fields, croquet courts and even a zoo for animals from exotic and distant lands. 

Inside, the palace was emblazoned with marble and gold. Thousands of servants catered to the King's every whim. Courtiers by the hundreds waited to do the King's pleasure. 

Open countryside, crowed cities. Extravagantly rich, desperately poor. A land of contrasts. 

* * *

On the banks of the river Scone, in the area of the city not frequented by the upper or even middle class, stood a massive building. Avoided by all but those with direct business, this dark and foreboding structure was made entirely of stone, the six-foot thick walls breached only by small, barred windows cut high above the ground, allowing the inhabitants the barest view of the outside world. This was The Fortress, state prison of the kingdom, from which no one had ever escaped. 

A large carriage bearing the royal crest of the King drove through the cobblestone streets. As it came to a stop in front of the prison the carriage door opened and a man stepped out. 

Sire Braquet was a man of average height, his features not strikingly handsome. With straight sandy brown hair worn at shoulder length, he presented as a man easily missed in a crowd. All in all, he looked rather ordinary. But one only had to look in his eyes to get the true measure of this man. Light, almost colorless brown, they were hard, cruel eyes, showing intelligence but no laughter, only sparkling in enjoyment at the pain of others. 

Today's business was not for his enjoyment. Today he was playing escort, a servant to someone else's wishes. He was not a happy man. 

Slamming the carriage door behind him, he approached the huge wooden gate set into the imposing stone wall. Pounding on the portal, he waited impatiently, his hand resting on his sword. When a smaller door set within the gate finally opened, he handed a scroll to the gatekeeper and waited again as the man slowly read the instructions. After a few moments he nodded and Braquet returned to the carriage. Opening the small door, he offered his hand to the passenger inside. 

The Lady Megan stepped down from the carriage and moved to the prison door. Young and slim, with petite features and long, dark curls pulled back off her face, she appeared almost frail. But there was strength in her bearing as she walked, holding her head high, not showing the turmoil in her soul. 

She did not wish to be here, in this hellhole on earth, but her father was housed inside, in this dark and terrible place. It was only through the good will of Sire Kyncade that she was able to visit him this day. That it was because of Kyncade's cruelty that her father was imprisoned was a thought she tried to keep at bay. 

She paused at the door, momentarily torn, until a small shove from Braquet forced her inside. 

* * *

The jailer, carrying a ring of keys in one hand and a lantern in the other, led Sire Braquet and the young lady through the rat-infested passageways and down the filth-strewn steps of the dungeons. A guard brought up the rear. 

"You must understand, Sire," the jailer explained, holding the lantern high to light their way, "I have strict orders not to let anyone see these prisoners. But an order from the Minister, Sire Kyncade..." 

Suddenly a piercing scream drowned out the moans and grumbles coming from the nearby cells. Megan jumped, already on edge from the putrid smells and the scurrying rats, her head turning rapidly in an effort to locate the victim. Just then, a cell door next to Megan opened to reveal a man tied to a wooden table. 

Smiling apologetically, the jailer turned to her. "The rack, Milady. Still the best way to loosen a villain's tongue." 

Megan stared in horror until their guard stepped over and closed the door. Then she turned, running after the two men who had continued walking. The guard followed quietly, shaking his head sadly that a beautiful young creature should be in a place such as this. 

They continued through passages and down steps, moving further into the bowels of the prison, passing cells, with their small barred windows, where Megan could see men, filthy and deathly thin, watching her every move. 

"Tell me, Sire," the jailer question quietly. "Why does a beautiful young lady of his Majesty's court wish to see a wretch like this Conner?" 

"She is the man's daughter." Braquet responded in disgust. "A fact that Sire Kyncade would not want published." 

The jailer nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "As Governor of the Fortress, one learns to be discreet." 

* * *

In a cell on the lowest level of the prison, Blair sat hunched on his bunk, his knees pulled close to his chest. His bearded face, normally clean-shaven, rested on his knees, hidden by his long, unbound curls. 

'What did I do?' he wondered. 'Who would put me in this place?' He shook his head in disgust. 'I should have fought harder.' 

He thought back to the morning of his capture. As he had donned his clothing he had studied his captors, hoping to identify them in some way. The black cloaks they wore disguised their bodies and the black cloth across their faces hid all but their eyes. Dark brown in color, they had held no anger or hate but almost a look of resignation, as if the men wished not to be doing what they were. Then, outside the cottage, when he had seen the horses, he fought back, struggling as best he could. He didn't know who these men were or where they planned to take him but he didn't intend to go easily. Granted, he was smaller than average but he was by no means slight. A lifetime of riding had added strength to the muscles in his compact body. 

This, he thought dismally, had still not prevented his being dragged from his bed and thrown into this dungeon. 

Hearing movement outside his cell, Blair unfolded himself from the cot and moved to the door, looking out the small barred opening. 

"Sir," he called, seeing the guard. "Guard, I demand to know why I am here. What have I done? Who is my accuser? Am I to be tried?" 

Without a word, the guard stepped forward and closed the small door to the opening. 

"To hear them complain, they're all innocent." The jailer chuckled. 

The guard moved to the next cell and opened the door, standing aside. With his hand on Megan's back, Braquet ushered her to the door, preparing to follow her inside. She stopped and turned to face him. 

"Alone." she said, a hint of determination in her voice. "As I was promised." 

Braquet stared at the young woman, hatred bubbling up in his soul. She was nothing, a useless slip of a girl. Who was she to make demands upon him? If it weren't for her fair face, she would never have come to Kyncade's attention. But she had and that gave the lady some power, enough to be granted this unorthodox visit. Enough to make his life miserable if he didn't comply with her wishes. 

With a look of resignation, he nodded. "Five minutes," he warned. "No more." Braquet turned away, pulling the door closed behind him. 

Megan stood quietly for a moment then turned, seeking out the lone occupant of the cell. Dark and dank, the only illumination came from a small window high in the wall and a door set in a side wall that connected to the adjoining cell. Through this door she could see movement but dismissed it as she spied the man huddled on the bunk, his face turned to the wall. She stepped closer, calling softly. 

"Father?" 

The old man raised his head but did not turn to face the girl. "Who is there? Who calls to me?" 

"Father, it's Megan." She took another step towards the bunk. 

"Megan...!?!" His voice held disbelief as he turned to look at what could only be an apparition. "Go away!" he mumbled, turning back toward the wall. "I'm dreaming!" 

Moving to sit on the edge of the bunk, Megan reached out and took his arm, turning him to face her. "No, Papa. You're not dreaming." 

He stared at her for a moment until recognition brightened his eyes. "Child? Dear Child," he cried, embracing her. "Forgive me. My eyes they......let me see you." 

He pushed her back to study her face, not releasing his hold on her arms. "How beautiful you are. So...so elegant. Life at court must suit you." 

Megan hung her head, shame coloring her voice. "If only you knew how little. Dearest Papa, please forgive me." 

"Forgive you for what, my child? Why...why do you blame yourself?" 

"If I had not rejected the attentions of Sire Kyncade..." 

"Kyncade! That damned lecher..." Conner's angry growl was cut short by a dry, raspy cough. 

Megan rubbed a calming hand over her father's back. "Hush. We may be heard." As her father calmed she whispered, almost to herself. "It would be better if I were Kyncade's mistress and you were free." 

Conner's head shot up. "No, never! I'd rather rot here!" he stated vehemently. 

"He said that if I gave myself to him..." 

"No! Never!" His excitement caused Conner to cough again, harder this time 

"But I must." Megan pleaded. "Accept it, Father." 

"No.....No.... " His words were cut off as he began choking, his throat dry for lack of use. 

"Father?" Megan rubbed his back again, trying to relieve her father's spasms. 

* * *

In his own cell Blair stood at the adjoining door, observing the reunion. Feeling as if he was intruding on a private moment, he stepped back but continued to listen to the father and daughter, drawn by the sense of a loving family such as he had never known. 

At the sound of coughing, Blair moved back to the door. Taking note of the other prisoner's distress, he called to Megan. 

"Milady..." 

At the stranger's beckon, Megan moved cautiously to the door. Blair crossed his cell to return a moment later with a cup of water. He passed it through the barred window to Megan's waiting hand. 

She smiled as she accepted the prisoner's generosity. "My father and I..." 

Her words are cut off as she looked into the young man's face, stunned by what she saw. Trying to cover her astonishment, she continued. "... thank you for your kindness." 

But Blair had seen the look of shock and fear cross her beautiful face. He leaned closer. "Why do you stare at me so?" 

"It's just... just that you resemble....." She stopped, not quite sure what to say. 

"Who?" Blair pleaded, hoping perhaps that she could give him some answers. 

"An acquaintance." she stammered, turning away. Blair reached through the bars, taking her hand. 

"Do not be afraid." he said, the twinkle in his eyes and the smile that touched his lips setting her immediately at ease. "How could I harm someone so beautiful? But you must tell me. I must know." 

Suddenly the door to Connor's cell opened and Braquet walked in, to see Megan move away from the other prisoner towards her father. 

"It is time." he spoke to Megan, his attention on the adjoining cell. Moving to that door, Braquet looked into the darkness, trying to see the prisoner inside. "Give me some light," he called to the jailer standing behind him. Holding the lantern high, he could just make out a man standing back in the shadows. "You there...come here." 

Blair moved forward, closer to the door, allowing Braquet to finally see his face. When Braquet reacted with a gasp, a look of fear on his face, Blair rushed forward and reached through the barred window, grabbing Braquet by his coat. 

"What is it you see???" 

The guard moved to separate them, poking a stick through the barred window, forcing Blair back. 

"Let him alone." Braquet yelled, pulling the guard away. 

Turning to Megan, Braquet searched her face, looking for any sign of recognition. Noting that her attention was only for her father, Braquet took her by the arm and ushered her out of the cell. At the door he paused, looking back at Blair, as if to assure himself of what he had seen. 

* * *

Chapter Two 

The Grand Salon in the Royal Palace was crowded with courtiers, some seated on upholstered benches or chairs, others standing in clusters around the room, all in attendance at the pleasure of King Ryen. He sat in the comfort of his plush, throne-like, chair, his feet resting on a footstool upholstered in the finest brocade, surrounded by servants holding trays of food and drink, should he choose to partake. His attention, for the moment, was on the troupe of actors in front of him, performing a comedic play. 

Amid the buzz of conversations, a door on the far side of the room opened and Braquet entered. He scanned the room, searching, until he located his objective. Acknowledging the greetings of various men as he passed, Braquet moved toward the back of the room. 

In a small alcove leading to another exit stood the man Braquet sought. His regal bearing announced his importance, as he stood quietly, his cold eyes taking in all that transpired in the room. 

Sire Kyncade was a man who held great power and craved even more. As chief advisor, his influence over the King rivaled no other and he relished the fear he inspired in lesser men. He watched as Braquet moved slowly toward him and waited impatiently. 

Standing quietly against the far wall, two other men watched Braquet with interest as he moved through the crowd. Sire Symon, Minister of the Interior since the reign of the former king, was a lean man, taller than most, with skin the color of warm cocoa. A fawn-colored ribbon held his smooth raven hair at the nape of his neck. His matching doublet and pants hid the body of a master swordsman. His hand, however, carried not a sword but a cane, a misleading affectation. 

At his side stood a man whose very stance announced his military vocation. Not quite as tall as Symon, he was garbed in his uniform of royal blue, with a cape hanging rakishly from his right shoulder. His light brown hair was worn in the style of the day, cut straight at the level of his strong jaw line. The sword hanging from his left hip completed the picture of a strong and deadly warrior. This was James D'Ellison, Captain of the King's Royal Guard. 

The two men watched as Braquet and Sire Kyncade began speaking softly. 

"See how the hawk and the falcon conspire together?" Symon whispered to his friend "I wonder what evil they are hatching?" 

James looked on in resignation. He despised the intrigues of the court, preferring a head to head battle. But he knew the very future of the kingdom hung on such intrigues. 

"Kyncade, the master juggler at work." His snide tone brought a small smile to Symon's lips. "The national treasures he has plundered, the very wealth of Wyndmoor, smoothly channeled into personal glory of his chateau at Radnor. Something must be done, Symon." 

"Have faith, my friend. Hopefully we'll see him pay it back one day." 

They moved away from the wall, walking slowly to a seat in the back of the room, Symon angling to get closer to Kyncade. 

James inclined his head, indicating the man sitting in the high-backed chair. "But there sits the real scourge of Wyndmoor. This...this useless dandy who calls himself 'King'". 

"Patience, James. Remember, Ryen still wears the crown and carries the scepter. Any action against him must be a last recourse." 

"It cannot be soon enough for me." 

"We must be cautious. Kyncade has ears everywhere. He must not get wind of our plans until we are ready to act." 

"I will count the minutes until the day..." James said sadly as they took a seat on an unoccupied bench not far from Kyncade and his lackey. 

"Perhaps you will be able to glean something from here?" Symon whispered softly. He had long been amazed by his friend's extraordinary hearing and sight and had used those abilities on many occasions. 

James gave a minute shake of his head. "Not today, my friend. I'm afraid these 'abilities' work only at their pleasure. I have no control of them." 

Symon placed his hand on the other man's shoulder and smiled. "Then I will have to listen twice as hard...for both of us." With that he concentrated on the men behind him. 

* * *

"I tell you...he lives." Braquet insisted as he stood facing the Minister, his voice barely above a whisper. Kyncade's eyes continued to scan the room, watching for any hint of interest. His lips barely moved as he carried on this secret conversation. 

"Where?" 

"The Fortress." Braquet smiled triumphantly. "God knows what stroke of fate put him there for me to find." 

"Fate?" Kyncade chuckled at this turn of fortune. "Oh, no, no...this is the work of those jealous of my power over the king." 

Braquet glanced over to the tall black man sitting not far away. "Symon?" 

Kyncade allowed his eyes to drift in that direction. "Yes. I've long suspected our venerated Minister of the Interior of plotting to do me damage. But a move so bold as this is not only against me..." 

"It could be treason?" 

"Delicious, isn't it?" Kyncade savored the moment. "Worry not. I'll bury the old fox yet." Finally he looked as Braquet's face, the intensity of his eyes causing the smaller man to step back. "Are you absolutely sure it is the boy? The protg of Sire William and not just some look-alike?" 

"The resemblance is too perfect. It has to be." Braquet assured him. 

A chill smile curled Kyncade's lips. "We must be certain...mustn't we?" 

* * *

As Kyncade and Braquet moved to leave through the rear door, Symon turned to watch their passage. Unable to hear their conversation, he wondered what could be so important to take Kyncade from the king's side. 

* * *

The Fortress guard walked down the passageway, stopping in front of the cell. With his key, he opened the cell door to find Blair asleep in his bunk. Grabbing the young man by the arm, he pulled him from the bunk and, with a twist, forced Blair to his knees on the rush-strewn floor. When the guard's hand grabbed his hair, forcing his head back, Blair came face to face with the man he'd seen earlier. 

"Who are you?" Blair demanded, through clenched teeth. "What do you want?" 

Holding a lantern high Braquet grabbed the front of Blair's shirt and ripped it, revealing his left shoulder. He stepped back as Kyncade silently entered the cell and stepped towards Blair. The First Minister stared at the naked shoulder, seeing the heart-shaped birthmark located just below the collarbone. Looking at Blair's face, he stared for a moment then left the cell, never speaking a word. Braquet followed as the guard released Blair, shoving him back towards his bunk. Leaving the cell, the guard locked the door behind him. 

In the passageway, Kyncade turned to the jailer. "Who brought this prisoner here?" 

The jailer shifted nervously, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the powerful man. "I'm sorry, Sire. I know not who arrested him. The order was signed by some obscure prefect in Dryden." 

Kyncade stepped closer to the jailer, his voice low and menacing. "No one must see that prisoner without my authorization. Guard him well or it will be your head." Without a backward glance, Kyncade walked away, sure that his command would be obeyed. 

"Rest assured, Sir." The jailer agreed. "Rest assured." 

* * *

Chapter Three 

The sun was warm and shining brightly on the gathered crowd. A carpet had been placed on the lawn and a pavilion erected for the comfort of the royal family. On either side of the pavilion, ministers, ladies-in-waiting, and other members of the court gathered, watching the croquet match. Servants moved through the crowd, supplying refreshments. 

Megan stood off to the left, among the other ladies. Her eyes riveted on the man whose face was identical to the one she had encountered a few days before. 

Alike but, then again, not. 

Where that face was alive with emotions, this one was closed off and cold. Where those eyes showed caring and compassion, these eyes were steely and calculating. 

King Ryen VI raised his eyes to the crowd, assuring himself that he had everyone's attention. Anything else would not be acceptable. Vain and egocentric, his every whim had been catered to since birth and he had come to expect nothing less. As a child, the Prince had but to loudly demandt and his wish would be granted. As King, he expected his mere thought to accomplish the same result. 

Dressed garishly in bright red velvet, white silk and lace, a wig of dark chestnut curls trailing down his back, he stood over the ball, mallet in his hand, and sighted the line to his target. With a sure stroke, he sent the ball rolling, its movement coming to stop just inches in front of the wicket. He acknowledged the crowd's applauds with a nod and turned to his companions standing across the field. 

"Beat that, Monfrey...if you can." 

Monfrey, Duke of Rohan, shrugged his shoulders and smiled deferentially. Standing next to Monfrey, Lord Nolan chuckled. "If you dare," Nolan mumbled. 

"What?" Monfrey whispered, his tone conspiratorial. "And risk another tantrum?" He shook his head. "I shall miss it by a league, sir." 

Waiting as Monfrey made his play, the King scanned the crowd, his eyes coming to rest on Megan as she stood amid the crowd. He approached, fascinated as always by her beauty. She curtsied, clearly uncomfortable in the sight of the King. 

From the pavilion, the Lady Naomi, mother of the King, watched. "How brazenly Conner flirts with your husband, Madame." 

Queen Caroline, watching every movement of her wayward husband, replied quietly. "How openly your son encourages her, Madam." 

A collective groan from the crowd caused the King to turn in time to see Monfrey's ball roll from the field. Satisfied by his play, Monfrey looked helplessly at the King. 

The King smiled sadly, one finger lightly stroking his pencil-thin mustache, his look insincere. "Ah. What a...pity." 

Taking Megan by the hand, the King led her from the crowd to the field, placed the mallet in her hands and silently instructed her to make his final shot. Embarrassed by the King's attention in sight of the Queen, yet unable to refuse his bidding, she hit the ball through the wicket, ringing the bell. The crowd applauded the King's victory. Smiling at the crowd, he took Megan by the arm and led her to the tent shading the royal family. Nervously, she curtsied to the Queen Caroline and Lady Naomi, trying to ignore their looks of disdain. 

The King glanced beyond the pavilion to see his Minister's approach. "Ah, Kyncade." 

With a hand on Megan's arm, he bid her to follow as he stepped toward the dour faced man. "If you've come to join the game you are too late. We are bored with it and have found ourselves a new... distraction." He smiled at Megan, the hand on her arm keeping her at his side. 

Ignoring the King's companion, Kyncade sketched him a small bow. "I seek a word in private with Your Majesty, on a matter of some urgency." 

"What a tedious man you are, Kyncade. You haven't even asked the score." Indicating that Megan was to join him, the King turned, walking away from the field. 

Kyncade followed a few steps behind. "I'll wager Your Majesty played as successfully as usual." 

The King continued walking, his eyes only on Megan. "We have won every set." 

"Congratulations, Your Majesty" 

Glancing over his shoulder to see that Kyncade continued to follow, the King sighed, resigned to the meeting. "Come to our chambers later." He dismissed Kyncade with a wave of his hand as he smiled at Megan. "Much later." 

The two proceeded down the gravel-covered walkway toward the palace, followed by retainers, the Lady Naomi and Queen Caroline and the rest of the court, the match clearly over for the day. 

"How can you endure such humiliation with a smile."? Lady Naomi asked, walking beside the Queen. 

"Easily, Madame, if it keeps him from my bed." 

Naomi looks at Caroline in shock. "With a common country girl? A slut!" 

Caroline chuckled. "You are not the only one who is upset. Look at Kyncade." She inclined her head toward the Minister, still standing at the pavilion, with Braquet now at his side. 

"Why is that?" 

"Because, Madame, our Little Ryen has taken his most desired." 

* * *

Kyncade and Braquet watched as the crowd walked away, led by the King and the Lady Megan. 

"I admire your strength, Sir." Braquet knew of Kyncade's interest in the lady. 

"No sacrifice is too great, Braquet, if it pleases one's sovereign." With that, Kyncade began walking back to the palace, following the rest of the court at a distance. 

* * *

Chapter Four 

Megan stood in the King's apartment, wishing she were anywhere else. Her father thought life at court agreed with her when, in fact, it had become an experience barely tolerated. Her father had been a tailor, with minor connections at court, and had sacrificed much to secure his daughter a position as a lady in waiting to the Queen. At the time, her life seemed perfect. 

Then she came to the attention to Sire Kyncade. He made advances, which she gently rebuked. Her heart already belonged to another, a man apprenticed to her father. But Kyncade was not one to accept rejection. Because of her actions, her father was now imprisoned in the Fortress and her beloved forced to stay away for his own protection. Megan had thought her life couldn't get any worse. 

Then she had come to the attention of the King. 

Now she waited while the King moved around her, his eye mapping every inch of her body, as if appraising a newly acquired racehorse. Three servants stood off to the side, silently awaiting the King's command. 

"Exquisite," he murmured. "Absolutely exquisite. But we will have to arrange for a new wardrobe." 

"His Majesty is too kind." Megan replied, demurely 

The King removed his coat, handing it off absently to one of the servants. "Not at all. It is a pity to hide such assets." He continued to walk around her, his scrutiny embarrassing her. "You deserve gowns that will show them off and allow one a glimpse of ... paradise". 

Megan blushed at his suggestive comment 

"Come, come. Why so shy? Surely you have guessed by now that I would give the world for you? Simply ask and it will be yours." 

"Your Majesty, I would not presume..." 

He came to stand beside her, his fingers lightly touching her hair, and gently laughed. "Oh, dear girl. I expect you to presume. Presume too much. Demand more than I can fulfill. That will be my agony. And my joy. Such is the game of love. At which, I perceive, you are new." With a glance he dismissed the servants. 

"Alas, I fear I will never know the rules." 

"Nonsense! I will instruct you." He stepped back, taking on the tone of a tolerant teacher with a young student. "For example, when I shower you with gifts, do not be too quick to show your pleasure. Pout awhile and look dissatisfied." 

She moved away, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation and the King's attention. "But surely that would hurt your feelings, Sire." 

"Yes. Yes. Now you are beginning to understand." Stepping beside her again, he went down to his knees. "And I will grovel at your feet, like this." Taking the bottom of her dress, he brought it to his lips "And kiss the hem of your gown, like this, and beg you to forgive me." 

"Your Majesty..." She pleaded for him to stop, clearly frightened by his actions. 

But the King only laughed, enjoying her nave reaction and the fear in her eyes. 

* * *

In the chamber outside the Royal Apartments, men gathered, awaiting audience with the King. When the Majordomo entered the chamber, he was immediately surrounded by men who, it was apparent, have been waiting quite a long time. 

"Ah, Sir..." 

"We have been waiting for three days." 

"If I could just speak..." 

Their words fell over each other's as they tried to get the attention of the one man who could gain them entrance. 

With a calm, quiet voice, pitched just loud enough to be heard over the babble, he made his way through the crowd. "Your Majesty will see you all in due course." He continued across the room to where Symon and D'Ellison were seated, quietly waiting. 

"Will His Majesty see me now?" Symon asked, his tone clearly indicating that he, too, was tired of waiting. 

The man bowed to the Minister, apparently used to delivering unwanted news. "His Majesty craves the Minister of the Interior's indulgence a little while longer." 

Just then Kyncade entered the chamber and was immediately surrounded by the minor dignitaries seeking audience. 

"Sire Kyncade, please..." 

"If I could..." 

"Later." he said sharply, dismissing them with a wave as he continued through the room. As he neared the Minister and Captain, he acknowledged their presence with a slight bow. 

"Sire Symon. D'Ellison." 

"Sir." Symon nodded, not rising from his chair. 

Ignoring the lapse in protocol, Kyncade addressed D'Ellison. "You are looking more fit than ever." 

James nodded his head slightly, his face not showing his distaste for the man. "Thank you. And you are looking more...prosperous than ever." 

Refusing to rise to the bait, Kyncade raised a finger. "Sir..." he murmured in warning then turned, shaking his head as he walked away. 

The King's Majordomo joined Kyncade and escorted him into the King's chamber. The crowd, taking this as an indication that they would not be seeing the King, moved to leave the chamber, voicing their displeasure. 

"I have been kept waiting for days..." 

"It was never like this when Richard was king." 

"How can the country survive like this?" 

"Do you hear this?" James whispered to Symon, his anger barely held in check. "How much longer must we suffer this?" 

"We must not act impetuously." Symon cautioned as they followed the others toward the exit. 

"Impetuously? Our shores are threatened from abroad. Our people cry out for bread. And what does Ryen do? He writes Odes to Peace and dances the minuet. The country needs a king who cares for the people. If we do not act then, tell me my friend, what is to become of Wyndmoor?" 

* * *

Chapter Five 

The King, standing uncomfortably close to Megan, leaned in to kiss the reluctant woman. A knock at the door startled her, causing her to step back. 

"The door." she pointed out, hoping this would be the interruption that would save her. 

"Ignore it. They will go away." He leaned in again but Megan opened a small fan, holding it in front of her face, hoping to discourage the King. Undeterred, he took the fan and moved closer, smiling at her feeble attempt to stop him. Just then, another knock was heard and, exasperated, the King called out. 

"Enter." 

The doors opened and Kyncade entered to see that he was obviously interrupting. At a glare from the King, Kyncade bowed, pretending embarrassment. 

"Your Majesty." 

"Ah, Kyncade. How quick you are." The King smiled coldly, his voice clearly angry. 

"Pray, forgive the intrusion but the business that I spoke of...I fear it cannot wait." Kyncade moved further into the room, his actions demonstrating that he would not be put off. 

Taking Megan's hand, the King brought it to his lips. "Alas, my dear. Such are the burdens of Monarchy." He kissed her fingers. "Please leave us." 

With a nod Megan took a step towards the doors through which Kyncade just entered. 

"No..." The King stopped her. "Through here. It leads to your new apartments." 

He took Megan by the arm and led her to a side door. "Through this passage we can come and go unobserved by the Queen Caroline. And my Mother." He kissed her hand again, his eyes sparkling devilishly. "Till soon, my one and only love." 

He opened the door and, with a hand on her back, guided her through the door. Closing it behind her, he turned to face his Minister. "Ah, Kyncade...what a delight she is. Such a transparent innocence, such incandescent beauty." He sniffed the fan that he still held as he moved about the room. 

"She seems demure." 

"Yes. Too demure, we must admit. We are at our wits end." 

"Perhaps I can help persuade the girl." 

The King looked at his Minister in surprise. "You have her confidence?" 

A devious smile curled Kyncade's lips. " To some small degree." 

"If you could but convince her to trust herself to us, we would be most grateful in return, Sir." 

"In Your Majesty's service..." Kyncade mumbled, bowing slightly. 

"Yes, yes." He waved off the response, walking away. "Now, your pressing business?" 

* * *

In the hallway leading to other apartments, Lady Megan and her servant, Alyce, stood talking, along with other ladies of the court. 

"How could you be so coldhearted?" Alyce asked. "He is handsome and he has power. Were I in your position, I would not be turning down the King." 

"Alyce!" Megan turned away from her confidant. "My heart already belongs to another. Even so..." She sighed, unable to explain. "The face I see before me I could easily love. But the man I find behind the face..." 

"Oh, Megan!" Alyce grabbed her arm, exasperated by her mistress's naivet. Suddenly, Megan gasped, her face going pale in fear. 

"My fan. I left my fan!" 

"Queen Caroline mustn't find it. You have to go back." 

Megan walked to the door leading to the King's suite, intent on retrieving her fan. As she opened the door, she could see the two men, standing by the window, still in conversation. 

* * *

"You must be mad, Kyncade. Our twin brother died at birth." 

"He lives, Sire, I assure you. That death was the invention of your father's First Minister..." 

"Sire William!" 

The King pushed away from the window and stalked across the room, his anger and hatred evident. Sire William never liked him and Ryen hated him in return. Upon the old King's death, Ryen replaced him as First Minister. He died a few months later in a riding accident, amid accusations of fraud and corruption. 

Well aware of the King's feeling for the former First Minister, Kyncade continued. "A lie that he told to the King, which your father accepted in good faith. The infant was stillborn, he said. In fact, the babe lived. He was taken away and brought up in a secret place. On the pretext of sparing your mother further grief, a secret, quick funeral was prepared and a coffin was buried." 

"Lord knows who was really in that coffin." 

"One thing is now certain, Sire. It was not your brother Blair." 

The King turned to face Kyncade. "But what could have been Sire William's motive in all this?" 

"Motive, Sire?" Kyncade shook his head. "The first born is rightful heir to the throne. You are the second son. Sire William, having in his control, the legitimate heir, had the power to manipulate you." 

The King began pacing. His voice was a mixture of anger, bewilderment and fear. "Our own mother would let her lover, Sire William, use us? Ryen, a puppet king?" 

"Precisely." 

"This could be our destruction. The very ground we stand on turns to quicksand!" 

"Fortunately, Sire William died before he was able to replace you on the throne with your brother Blair and the secret died with him. That is, until now." 

The King rounded on Kyncade, stepping up to him. "Are you certain beyond a doubt, that this is our brother Blair?" 

"I have, myself, seen the birthmark..." Kyncade reached out to touch the King's left shoulder. "forgive me, Sire...identical with the one Your Majesty bears." 

Stunned, the King backed away. This could not be true. His entire world was being threatened by a dead man. He paced the room in silence, his mind sorting through the ramifications of this news. After a few moments, he threw himself into a nearby chair, his actions one of a spoiled child. 

"What a fool Ryen has been to think his crown secure." 

"Sire, fear not." Kyncade assured him. "I have the pretender in safe custody." 

In the hallway, Megan moved away from the door, shocked by what she had heard. It explained so much and yet.... 

* * *

Chapter Six 

Outside the palace, men and women stood alone and in groups awaiting audience with any of a number of Ministers and officials that were housed in the building. Symon and D'Ellison stood at the top of the stone staircase, awaiting their carriage. Seeing its approach, Symon started down the steps, James at his side. 

"What have you done with Blair? Is he safe and sound?" Symon asked as he took in their surroundings, trying to make sure they weren't being overheard. There were many spies within the palace and one couldn't be too careful. 

A wry smile crossed D'Ellison's face as he pulled on his leather gloves. "What could be safer and more sound than the Fortress?" 

Symon turned to his friend, surprised. "The Fortress?" 

"Where better to hide him from Kyncade's spies? As you've said before, this falcon has sharp eyes." 

"True. No one would think to look for him there. Does Blair suspect anything?" 

"No, nothing." 

When no further comment was forthcoming, Symon looked closely at his friend. "What is it, James? What is wrong?" 

"He's an innocent, Symon. A gentle soul. He's haunted by the mystery. It would be an act of mercy to let him know the truth." 

Symon shook his head. "We most say nothing yet." He could see the muscles in his friend's jaw clench. "You do not agree?" 

"We should tell him his true identity." 

The carriage pulled up in front of the two men and James opened the door. Symon placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "And we will, in time. You and I are flirting with high treason, my friend. Let Blair remain ignorant for his sake as well as our own. The rack can loosen any man's tongue. Even that of a prince." 

With a reluctant nod, James climbed into the carriage and, after Symon followed, it pulled away from the palace. 

* * *

Silence reined in the Royal Apartments as the King, still sitting in hischair, pondered the situation. "Who has revived this conspiracy against me? Do you have names?" 

Kyncade, standing by the window, held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I cannot point the finger until I have more proof." 

The King rose and stalked over to Kyncade, determination in his stride. "Get it! And, when you have it, we will extract our retributions. Has my brother any property?" 

"Just a small estate in Dryden, I am told." 

"Confiscate it." 

"Yes, Sire. And the fate of this pretender?" 

"Not a drop of royal blood is to be shed in this, Kyncade." The King warned. "We would not want to tempt providence by condoning regicide." 

"Wise. Very wise, Sire." Kyncade moved slowly around the King, coming to the recently vacated chair. As his eyes captured those of his sovereign, he sat, his attitude smug. 

Momentarily stunned by Kyncade's audacity, the King chuckled nervously. This man was his friend. He had guided Ryen for years. Even now he worked to protect Ryen from those who would destroy him. Did that not give him the right to some leeway in the presence of the King? 

Moving over to stand at the small table beside Kyncade, the King continued their discussion. "Also, we cannot forget that this pretender is more than our brother. He is our twin, our mirrored image, our other self. Wound Blair and might not Ryen bleed? Kill Blair and might not Ryen...die? No, we must find some other way." 

"Sire, I know of a fortress. Remote and inaccessible." 

"We leave the place to your discretion." He waved dismissively, his mind working on ways to neutralize this threat to his throne. He considered his options as he absently arranged the items on the table. "But know this, Kyncade. We wish never to hear his name again. And no one...no one is ever to look upon his face. That is why mere confinement will not suffice." The King picked up a masquerade mask, a tin half-face covering on a stick, and held it in front of his face. "We must think of something...special?" 

* * *

Chapter Seven 

The sound of footsteps echoing through the stone passageway attracted the older man's attention. Three...no, four people moved past his door, to stop at the next cell. He heard the rattle of keys then a wooden door opening, followed by the voice of a young man. 

"What do you want?" 

"We want you!" 

Hearing the sounds of a struggle, he edged over to his cell door, peering out the barred opening in time to see Blair being pulled into the passage, held between two large men. As Blair struggled against his captures, he watched a tall man step forward, into the torchlight. 

Kyncade. 

"What do you want?" Blair demanded. "Where are you taking me?" 

"Isle St. Sebastian." With that, Kyncade turned and walked away, followed by the two men dragging Blair between them. The prison guard followed a few steps behind. 

Their passage went unnoticed by all but Megan's father. He closed his eyes, and bent his head in sorrow. The young man was an avid listener, and had provided some small comfort with his presence and his interest. Now he was alone again, and feared for Blair's life. 

* * *

They were riding in a carriage along a coast road. One of the men who had pulled him from his cell sat beside him, holding onto the chain that connected the shackles on his wrists to the irons around his ankles. On the opposite bench sat the man he assumed to be in charge, an official of some sort. Blair knew that this was the man who could give him answers. 

Ignoring the nervousness that had his stomach jumping, Blair began talking, trying to keep his tone conversational. 

"Isle St. Sebastian? What is it?" 

After a moment's pause, the official responded, a sly smile on his lips. "A place of repose." 

"As restful as the one I have just left?" 

"Oh, more so." Kyncade assured him. "You will have total seclusion and constant personal care." 

Blair held up his hands to indicate the shackles. "I see the beginnings of it. Thank you, Sir." 

Kyncade smiled at the sarcasm. "The shackles are merely a temporary measure for your protection, in case you might attempt something foolish. I promise they will be removed as soon as we arrive." 

"You promise?" Blair chuckled at the audacity of the man whose 'promise', he felt sure, meant nothing. 

"Faithfully." 

They rode the next few miles in silence, Blair using the time to study the man across from him. Finally his curiosity got the better of him. 

"What are you?" 

"Hmm?" 

"What are you?" 

"A Minister." 

"Not of the Church, I'll be bound." 

"Perhaps I missed my vocation." 

"The Church should thank God." 

Kyncade chuckled softly. "Very good. Perhaps you missed your vocation." 

Angered by the other man's smug demeanor, Blair lunged at Kyncade but the guard grabbed him, holding him back. Kyncade raised his hand, placing it at Blair's throat. 

"I admire your spirit, young man. You came from good stock." 

"What do you want of me?" Blair shrugged the guard's hands off of him, sitting up straight and proud. 

But Kyncade waved off his question. "It would be unfair to burden your mind with thoughts that might torment you in your secluded nights." 

"What do you want of me?!?" Blair shouted 

"Very well." Kyncade sighed, playing the drama of the moment. "You should feel complimented, you know. You are a principal player in a game. A game of history." He gave Blair another smug little smile. "Does that give you food for thought?" 

They rode in silence for a few moments until Kyncade took a deep breath. "I can smell the sea air. Soon we shall enjoy a brief voyage together." 

"Whoa, there." The driver yelled, reigning in the horses. His shout and the slowing carriage distracted both Kyncade and the guard. Deciding that this was his only chance, Blair bolted from the carriage and, running as fast as his shackled legs would allow, headed for the cliff side. 

"Stop him!" Kyncade shouted at the guard. The man jumped from the carriage as Blair scrambled down the cliff, slipping and sliding over the loose dirt and rocks. At the edge, the guard stopped, looking for another, safer, quicker way down. 

"Get him, you fool!" Kyncade yelled, coming up behind the guard. With a shove, he indicated a pathway that led down to the beach below. 

On the cliffside, Blair tumbled down the remaining height and landed hard, momentarily stunned. With a shake of his head, he rose and began to run along the shore, the leg irons limiting his gait. Behind him, Kyncade and the guard closed in. Then Blair stumbled, tripping over the chains, and fell to his knees and Kyncade's man was on him, pulling him to his feet. The guard pulled back his arm, his fingers curled into a fist, just as Kyncade arrived. 

"No! Stop! Not the face." Kyncade grab the guard's arm. "Not the face." 

The guard's fist made solid contact with the back of Blair's head and the smaller man crumbled. Throwing the unconscious man over his shoulder, the guard carried him to the small boat waiting further up the shore. 

* * *

Chapter Eight 

The island was located off the northwest coast of Wyndmoor, at a distance to be out of sight of the mainland. Less than a square mile in area, its sole structure was an immense fortress that seemed to rise directly out of the rock. With a shoreline accessible only at low tide, conditions offered little hope of escape. 

A small boat eased closer to the shore, powered by six rowers. Blair lay in the bottom of the boat under the watchful eyes of Kyncade and the guard, still stunned by the man's attack, unaware of his destination. 

* * *

Tied tightly to the heavy wooden chair, his head held securely in place by Kyncade's man, Blair watched as the blacksmith hammered the finishing touches on the metal atrocity he was fashioning. 

The first half, a solid piece of molded iron, slightly curved with a wild band around the edge, lay on the table, awaiting its companion piece. Using metal tongs, the blacksmith removed the other half from the fire and, holding it on the anvil, hammered in the final adjustments then plunged the piece into a tub of water. Pulling it out, the blacksmith inspected the openings carved into the metal, horizontal holes set in a t-shaped configuration. Satisfied, he nodded to the guard. 

As Blair struggled, the guard placed the solid piece against the back of his head while the blacksmith placed the second piece over Blair's face, the openings lining up precisely with his eyes, nose and mouth. As the guard held the two pieces in place, entirely covering Blair's head, the blacksmith inserted rivets into the band around the edges, securing the mask in place. 

"No! No, I beg you, no!" Blair screamed as the blacksmith secured the mask. "I have done nothing! Please, I beg you! Don't do this! No! No! No!" 

As Blair continued to struggle, Kyncade watched in silence. 

* * *

Thrown into the cell, Blair fell to the floor as the door was closed and locked behind him. On his hands and knees, his iron-shrouded head hanging heavily, he heard Kyncade's quiet instructions to the jailer. 

"Listen to me. No one must be allowed to see this prisoner without my express permission. Or on orders of the King. As for the blacksmith... he must never leave this island. Understand?" 

"Yes, Sir." Blair heard the jailer respond as the voices moved away from the door. 

Sitting down on the floor, Blair surveyed his cell. Thick stone walls surrounded him, a small window located high in the far wall supplying his only access to the outside. A large poster bed with covers and heavy drapes around the outside, a small table with wooden chair and a wooden bucket half filled with water were the only furnishings. 

Angry and frustrated, he tried prying the mask off with his fingers. Moving to the near wall, he banged his head against it, hoping to open the mask. When this, too, proved unsuccessful, he sat against the wall, scanning the room again, his eyes coming to rest on the window and the wall below. Small ledges, like steps, were cut in the wall leading up to the window. In a burst of energy, Blair climbed up, grasping the window's bars and pulling himself up the last few inches, allowing him to look out of his prison. 

But the only thing he was able see was the open water...and the small boat that had delivered him, moving away. 

"Why?" Blair screamed in frustration at the departing boat, knowing he couldn't be heard. "Why?" 

Suddenly, his foot slipped and he slid down the wall, landing hard on the floor. He lay there, dejected, a thousand questions running through his mind. 

'A player in a game' he'd been told. A principal player. Yet what sort of 'game' could lead him here? He was alone. No one knew, or even cared, what was happening to him. No, that wasn't true. Someone knew. Someone knew the truth. The truth about what was going on and why he was so important. 

"In the name of God," he cried as he lay staring at the ceiling, "will no one tell me who I am?" 

* * *

Chapter Nine 

The carriage drove through the crowded streets of the city, taking Symon and James to their destination. Turning down a small street, the carriage stopped before a building bearing a subdued sign that read "Collette" 

"I leave you here." Symon said, his hand on the door. "I've some business with the King's tailor, for the Royal Name Day celebration at Radnor. It promises to be the event of the season. 

James smiled at his friend, his expression one of disbelief. "And you will attend this...extravaganza?" 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Symon opened the door and stepped out of the carriage. "And neither must you." 

"What are you up to, you old fox?" 

Closing the door, Symon leaned in through the window. 

"We make our move at Radnor. The King and all his court will be assembled under one roof. You must prepare Blair." Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a scroll and handed to James. "This order will release him from the Fortress. Bring him to my estate at Ambler, as planned." 

James nodded and Symon turned, entering the building as the carriage pulled away. 

* * *

Inside the salon of Master Collette, the King's Tailor himself led Symon through rooms of workers, sewing and assembling garments. 

"Let you see the King's costume?" The tailor shook his head. "You must think me mad, Sir. No one sees the King's costumes before he wears them. That would ruin the surprise." 

They entered a private salon and Master Collette offered Symon a seat, raising his hand to his apprentice, indicating that he should attend. 

"Ah, but that is the point." Symon smiled as sat. "You see, Sire Kyncade wishes to surprise the King upon his entry into Radnor." 

"How so?" 

"With a portrait of His Majesty, wearing the costume you have designed for the masked ball. You see, Sire Kyncade has already engaged one of Wyndmoor's finest young painters. Perhaps you've heard of him. Leblanc?" 

"Ah, yes, Leblanc. A master of detail." 

"Especially with costumes. The idea is to have a model pose in the costume and then paint in the features of the King." 

"Admirable." Collette smiled, warming up to the idea. "A delicious surprise." 

"And a treasure His Majesty will doubtless prize forever." 

"One of my finest creations preserved for posterity......" 

"Of course, if you're still opposed......" 

"Opposed? Me, Collette, opposed to the King's pleasure?" The tailor moved towards the door, calling out to his apprentice. "Raphe, some wine for the Minister." At the door, Master Collette turned back to Symon, holding up his hand. "Wait one moment, please, Sir." 

Symon nodded graciously to the tailor, then turned to the apprentice standing at the table beside him. 

"I beg you, Sir." Raphe whispered as he nervously poured the glass of wine, his hands visibly shaking. "He will surely suspect." 

"If so, it will be both out necks, my young friend." Symon removed a sack of coins from his pocket and placed it in Raphe's hand "And stop shaking." 

"Yes sir." 

Master Collette reentered the chamber, carrying a covered costume form. Placing it in front of Symon, he removed the draping, unveiling the Royal Costume, a coat and pants of gold satin and brocade topped with a wide brim hat of the same fabric. Wordlessly, he pointed out the finer points, at the shoulders, cuffs and, of course, the Royal Sash of the deepest purple that crossed the chest from the right shoulder to be knotted at the left hip. 

"Of course," he offered, "it is nothing without the King himself. 

Symon could only nod in appreciation. 

* * *

Chapter Ten 

In the bowels of The Fortress, James and the jailer stood inside Blair's empty cell. 

"Where did they take him?" James demanded, the thin blanket that once covered Blair's body grasped tightly in his hand. 

"Sire Kyncade did not say." The jailer responded nervously, seeing in this man's steel blue eyes one who could easily kill him. 

"Alright, alright." James waved dismissively. "Leave me." 

Alone, D'Ellison paced the empty cell. He had failed. For as long as he could remember he had guarded this young man's identity, telling no one but Symon of his existence. Even his family knew not of the secret he kept. For years he had watched as the unknowing prince grew into an intelligent, good man. Waiting, biding his time, until the moment was right to correct the wrongs perpetrated by others. Then, as that time grew near, he thought bringing Blair to this place would protect him but it had only succeeded in delivering the unsuspecting young man into the hands of his enemies. Now Blair had been taken and James had no idea where. 

Bringing the small blanket to his face, he could detect the scent of the man that clung to the fabric. This was as close as he had ever allowed himself to get to his charge, always protecting from afar. Now his scent awoke something in James that he could not explain. His senses, always erratic, seemed somehow sharper, somehow stronger, more attuned. But there was more. For the first time in his life, James felt complete, as if something missing had been found. 

But now that something had been lost. 

Frustrated, he banged his fist into the frame of the cell door. What was he to do now? 

* * *

The old man stood at the door to the adjoining cell, watching the man inside pace. He had heard of this Captain, this man of honor and strength, whose reputation remained untainted despite his family history. But could he be sure? 

In the days since the young man had appeared in this prison, they had become friends, talking of families, their past, their future dreams. Now his new friend's very existence could depend on whom he trusted. He had to be certain. 

As he watched the man pound the wall in frustration, he knew. 

"Captain D'Ellison. Captain." 

The young Captain turned to see a wizened face peering at him through the opening in the door to the adjoining cell. Cautiously, he stepped over to the door. 

"Who are you."? 

"My name is not important. But..." The older man hesitated for a moment as James stepped even closer. 

"What?" 

"I know where they've taken him." 

"Where?" 

"I can trust you. I know I can trust you." 

"You tell me where he is and you may save his life. Where?" 

Megan's father waved Captain D'Ellison closer... 

* * *

"The Isle St. Sebastian?" The Minister shouted in disbelief. "My God. We must get him out of there." 

In a suite overlooking the Palace Gardens, Symon and D'Ellison stood by the window. 

"It would take an army to penetrate those walls." James shook his head. "I only have a handful of men. Brave Musketeers, true, but not enough of them to take a fortress. But we can always try..." 

Symon held up his hand, interrupting his friend. "Not by force, Captain. By cunning." 

With a smile he looked out of the window to see the King and his Royal Tailor, surrounded by various assistants and servants, selecting fabrics under a tent-shaded area of the Garden. Picking up a sheaf of papers, he headed for the door. 

"Wish me luck, my friend." 

* * *

Megan hurried down the hallway leading from her new apartments, her mind in a whirl. Since overhearing the King's conversation with Kyncade she feared for Blair's life. 

Blair. Somehow the name fit the innocently handsome face with the compassionate blue eyes. Such a kind soul did not deserve the fate he'd been given. But how could she help him? Who could she tell of the King's evil plan? 

As she passed a darkened hallway an arm shot out and wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her into the dimly lit passage. Her scream was cut off by another hand that covered her mouth. She struggled, fighting to escape, as the strong arms turned her and she finally faced her captor. 

"Raphe!" 

"Hello, my love." 

Any further protest was cut off as the young man took her lips in a kiss. Megan's resistance lasted only a second before her arms snaked around his neck and she seemed to melt in the heat of passion. 

Suddenly realizing where they were, Megan pushed away from her lover, staying within the circle of his arms. 

"What are you doing here? Are you mad?" 

"I'm here with Master Collette, fitting the King with another new wardrobe. And yes," he smiled as he began nuzzling her neck. "I'm mad about you." 

"Raphe, stop." She insisted unconvincingly. 

"Do you truly wish me to?" he murmured as he nibbled on her ear. 

"Yes!" she hissed, pushing him away. 

The pained expression on Raphe's face nearly broke her heart and she reached up to caress his cheek. 

"Darling, I'm sorry. You own my heart, you're my one true love but if we are found it would be a disaster." Taking his face in her hands she gently kissed his lips. "You know what they did to my father. If the King or Kyncade were to see us together, you would end up in prison.... or worse." 

"I know you are right, sweetheart," Raphe sighed, pulling her close. "But we get so few opportunities and I just couldn't let this one pass." 

"I wish we could be like this forever," she whispered, snuggling into the warmth of his embrace, feeling safer than she had in ages. 

"Soon, my dearest. Soon. Events, of which I cannot speak, are about to occur. Believe me, we will be together soon." 

"Events?" Megan gasped, suddenly remembering her earlier thoughts. "Oh, Raphe, you must help him!" 

"Help who, Megan?" 

"Blair. He is brother to the King and he is in danger!" 

"How do you know of Blair?" 

"I saw him, at the Fortress, when I went to visit Father. Then yesterday I overheard Kyncade speaking to the King. They knows where he is and I fear they plan to kill him!" 

"I must inform the others. Sire Symon must know of this." Raphe said softly, his mind distracted. When he looked back at Megan, she could see the determination in his eyes. "Does anyone else know what you saw or heard?" 

"No. I have told no one." 

"Good. It must remain so. Now, where were you going in such a hurry?" 

"The Queen is having a poetry reading in the Rose Garden. It would not be wise to draw attention to myself by arriving late." 

"Do they watch you still?" 

Megan nodded. "The Queen and the Lady Naomi watch my every move. Between that and trying to stay out of the grasp of Kyncade and the King, sometime I just..." 

Raphe pulled her close. "Not much longer, my love, I promise. Until then you must be strong." Loosening the embrace, Raphe stepped back, looking into Megan's eyes. "Can you do that for me, Megan?" 

Megan took a deep breath and, with renewed strength and determination, she stood tall and nodded. "I can do whatever is necessary. But you must promise me, Raphe. You must do what you can to save him." 

"I will, my sweet." Raphe vowed, bringing her fingers to his lips. "After all, he is the one who is going to save us all." 

Megan stepped back into the hallway and, turning, raced off to the Rose Garden, leaving her true love behind. 

* * *

Symon walked down the gravel-covered pathway towards the King's pavilion, a folder of letters in his hand. As he walked he slid an additional letter into the folder, hiding it among the other correspondence. Taking a calming breath, he continued to the tent and his goal. 

* * *

The King stood before a mirror held by two servants, admiring his reflections as he held fabrics in front of himself, draping them over his shoulder. When Master Collette offered him a pair of shoes he took one look at them and tossed them away. Looking back at his reflection, he noted Symon's approach in the mirror. 

"Not now, Symon. Can you not see we are busy?" 

"I sincerely regret this intrusion, Sire." Symon bowed slightly. "But these matters will not wait." 

Disgusted, the King simply dropped the material he was holding and walked over to the pavilion, sitting down at his desk. Standing before him, Symon opened his folder and pulled out a stack of parchments, placing them one by one before the King. 

"For the courier to Croyden," Symon said as the King attached his signature. Removing that letter, Symon replaced it with another. "For the Ambassador to Nice, Sire" 

"Really, Symon," the King groused as he signed, "you could not have chosen a more inopportune moment." 

Symon placed another letter before the King. "And the usual, Sire." Another was presented. "The usual again, Sire." 

As the King prepared to sign the last letter, the previous one caught his eye. "What have we here?" he asked, taking back the page and scanning it. 

"Merely a release order for a minor offense." 

The King looked up at Symon, still holding the parchment. "You consider this essential?" 

"For your Name Day, Sire." Symon gave his sovereign a gentle smile. "This annual demonstration of royal clemency helps to reaffirm you subject's devotion to you. They love you the more for your great...compassion." 

"How shrewd you are, Symon," he said slowly, his eyes taking in the man before him. "Perhaps too shrewd?" Finally, he handed back the parchment. "There," he said, affixing his signature to the final letter. "Now may we resume our fittings?" 

Placing the documents back into his folder, Symon bowed to his King, pleased that his deception had succeeded. 

* * *

Leaving the pavilion, the King walked back to the tailor and his dressers. 

"Let us see the silk brocade again, Collette." 

Master Collette draped the material over the King's shoulder. As the King admired his reflection, he suddenly gasped, his face pale, a shiver running through his body. 

"Your Majesty?" The tailor asked in concern 

"Nothing." The King closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. "It...it is nothing...only... 

"Only what, Your Majesty?" 

Opening his eyes, the King looked again at his reflection. "Looking in the mirror just then, a coldness came over us. As though someone had walked upon our grave." 

* * *

Chapter Eleven 

Blair sat dejectedly in his chair, a chunk of bread held in his hand, staring at his reflection in the bucket of water. As he continued to stare, the bread dropped from his slack fingers. With a sudden burst of energy, he plunged his hand into the bucket, shattering the reflection of the hideous mask. He stood abruptly, knocking over the chair and the water in the same movement. 

"God help me or I shall go mad!" he yelled as he began to wander aimlessly around the room. Nearing the bed, he grabbed onto the curtains, pulling them to his face. 

"I'm going mad...mad...the nightmares...no more nightmares..." he rambled as he slid to the floor, ripping the curtains down in the process. He began to wrap the heavy material around himself in an almost frantic motion, as if to ward off a great chill, crying plaintively. "God, bring me some sweet dreams, happy memories...Megan...I shall dream of Megan...I shall dream of my friend..." 

* * *

At that very moment, miles away, Megan sat in the Royal Gardens with the rest of the court, watching the afternoon's entertainment; a gladiator show performed by midgets. She looked on as the King, and others, tossed coins at the performers. Kyncade, standing behind her, began to run his fingers lightly over her shoulder. 

"Take care, Sir," she warned, "lest the King observe your advances." 

At that moment, the King looked in her direction, meeting her eyes. Suddenly Megan rose. 

"Excuse me." 

As she walked off, the King glanced at Kyncade and, with a nod of his head, sent his Minister after her. 

Long strides brought him to stand at Megan's side as she stopped at a table of sweets and other delicacies. 

"And...thus you keep us both at bay," he whispered. "What a cunning vixen you have become for one so innocent." 

Megan inspected the fare, not looking at the older man. "Necessity is my tutor, to my shame." 

"Come, my dear. Listen to one more experienced. By not yielding to my ardor, you saw your father thrown in prison and ruined. By rejecting the King's, you risk a fate far worse. A word to the wise, my pet. The next time the King offers you his favor..." 

Kyncade leaned closer, whispering in her ear. With a sound of disgust, Megan turned and walked away. Kyncade followed her with his eyes and saw Braquet coming towards him at a hurried pace. 

"D'Ellison has been to the Fortress for Blair." Braquet whispered harshly as he came to stand beside Kyncade. 

"D'Ellison?" Kyncade smiled. "Then he must know that his little wolf has escaped the den. A pity he doesn't know to where." 

"He rides, at this moment, for the coast." 

Realizing the implications, Kyncade grabbed Braquet's arm. " The pretender must not be allowed to reach Dresher alive." 

* * *

Sounds of movement and changing light surrounded the confused young man. Kind words murmuring, gentle hands lifting and propelling him from his dungeon to a place of warmth. 

Blair knelt on the stone floor, large hands gently holding his head, as the blacksmith hammered at the closure of the mask, trying to break the seal. Words of encouragement reached his ears, keeping him calm. With a final tap, it opened and the hands holding his head removed the iron weight from his shoulders. 

"Gently, gently..." the soothing voice compelled. 

Running his hands over his bearded face, Blair took a moment to look around at the unfamiliar men surrounding him. As he faced the man before him, he encountered the most striking blue eyes he has ever seen. 

True, the eyes that greeted him in the mirror each day were a deep, rich blue and, he'd been told, quite enchanting. But these eyes were translucent with a crystal shine that spoke of things both kind and gentle. A blue that could turn to ice in anger, he was certain. 

"I know not who you are." Blair whispered, his voice a bit strained. "Or why you have come to help me." 

"That...that can wait, I think." James smiled as he took Blair's arm, helping him to rise. "Are you strong enough to ride?" 

Blair ran his hands though his hair, momentarily holding his head. "Well...I'm...just a little lightheaded. But...yes...yes I can." 

"Good, good." Looking over Blair's shoulder, James spoke to the men standing there. "Get him ready. There is no time to waste." Using the hand that still held the young man's arm, James turned him to face the others. "This is Henri. Whatever may happen, stay with him." 

Blair looked at the taller man, whose coffee colored face was creased with a bright smile, and nodded in agreement. He still didn't know who his benefactor was but he instinctively knew that the man would protect him with his life. 

Releasing Blair's arm, James called to the jailer. "I wish to speak to you." 

As the two men walked to a far corner, the blacksmith, hammer and chisel still in hand, came to stand before Blair. 

"Forgive me, Sir. Never have I been forced to do so cruel a deed." 

Blair placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "They gave you no choice." 

The blacksmith nodded then turned to the table behind him. Facing Blair again, he handed him the iron mask. 

"Take this, Sir. So you may never forget what they did to you. God be with you." 

As Blair took the morbid souvenir, James rejoined him, grasping the blacksmith's shoulder. "This man goes free as well." 

"But Sire Kyncade said..." The jailer stammered, remembering his previous orders. 

"Do you question my authority?" 

"Well, no, Captain. But..." 

"Well then, come. The boat is waiting." 

With a hand on Blair's back, they led the way out of the cell and the godforsaken prison. 

* * *

Chapter Twelve 

The boat, carrying Blair and his rescuers, moved away from the island, leaving the prison behind. The men traveled in silence, each caught up in his own thoughts of past events and events yet to come. 

As the small boat eventually neared the Wyndmoor coast, D'Ellison used his superior sight to scan the shoreline, amazed by the fact that his sight was sharper then ever before. Horsemen, riding along the cliff above the shore, making for the boat's landing point, caught his attention. 

"Damn. It's Kyncade! Faster!" This last he shouted to the rowers, who immediately threw all their considerable power into propelling the craft through the water. 

Taking the mask from Blair's hands, D'Ellison turned to the blacksmith. "Can you get me in this without locking it?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good." As he began to remove his cloak and baldric, he turned to a confused Blair. "Give me your cloak." 

"My cloak? Why?" he asked, even as his hands began working the clasp. 

James dropped his cloak across the younger man's lap. "You get in this." He then took the Mask and placed it on his head as the blacksmith secured it with a bit of wire. "Now I shall play the Man in the Iron Mask...and Kyncade the fool." 

* * *

The boat glided onto the shore and D'Ellison jumped out, watching as the advancing riders thundered down the beach. 

"To the horses! To the horses!" he cried as he grabbed his waiting steed. 

Under Henri's guidance, Blair made his way to another animal and mounted the waiting horse then turned to the blacksmith, who was holding his reins. 

"Will you be alright on foot?" 

The blacksmith smiled at the young man and nodded. "Aye, Sir. I have a wife and family waiting. My feet will fly me home." 

"God speed, then!" As Blair turned, a shot rang out and beside him, the blacksmith fell dead. 

"My lord! Come! We must ride!" 

But Blair could not move, instead staring at the dead body now lying at his horse's feet. Henri grabbed the reins to Blair's horse and followed James as he led them down the beach, Kyncade, Braquet and three other riders not far behind. As they reached the top of the cliff, James brought them to a halt, trying to decide their best course of action. 

"You three, ride with him. You, follow me." 

With that, Henri and two others turned east, with Blair, disguised in D'Ellison's cloak, in their midst. The remaining soldier and D'Ellison, in the Iron Mask and Blair's cloak, headed south, hoping to distract their enemies. 

* * *

Kyncade and his men crested the hill and saw the two groups riding in different directions. 

"After them." Kyncade directed Braquet after the larger group "I will deal with this." With that, Kyncade rode alone after the masked horseman and his guard. 

* * *

Blair and the soldiers rode at top speed across the hills, through small groves of trees, jumping ditches and small walls, trying to stay ahead of their pursuers. As they cleared one such obstacle Blair, still weakened from his ordeal, fell from his mount. The soldiers, now in the lead, came rushing back to his side. 

"Are you hurt, sir?" Henri asked, jumping from his mount. 

"No, I'm fine." Blair said as he quickly regained his feet. "But I fear they are closing in." 

Rushing back to the low stone structure, Henri saw their pursuers dismount and seek cover, preparing to fight it out. 

"Ride on, Sire." Henri shouted, drawing his pistol. "We will hold them here." 

"But I cannot just leave you..." Blair's protests were cut short as the other soldiers forced him into the saddle. 

Turning to face the young man, Henri shouted. "You can, milord! You must! Please!" 

Hearing the soldier's plea and knowing he could be of no use here, Blair nodded and, turning his mount, continued off across the rolling hills. 

* * *

Seeing one of the horsemen ahead of him tumble, Braquet pulled up and signaled his men to dismount. It was time to change his tactics. 

Crawling behind a tumble of rocks he peered out, seeing the fallen soldier once again mounted. As his men begin firing, Braquet raised his pistol, sighting on the one man riding away from the fray. With a steady hand, he fired and was rewarded with the sight of the rider arching then slumping over in the saddle as his horse continued on. 

* * *

Leaning low in the saddle, the disguised D'Ellison rode across the fields, trying to distract Kyncade from his true target. As he spurred his horse faster, the harness snapped, sending the helmeted solder tumbling across the ground. Seeing Kyncade bearing down on him, D'Ellison regained his feet and rushed to his companion. 

"Your sword!" he yelled, reaching out to the man. "Give me your sword! Go after the others!" 

Taking the weapon, D'Ellison turned to face the still mounted Kyncade. As he parried a thrust, D'Ellison grabbed Kyncade's arm, pulling the man from his horse. Now on even ground, the men battled back and forth, D'Ellison's superior swordsmanship hampered by the restrictive mask. Moving across the ground, ever closer to the edge of the cliff, each man struggled to gain the upper hand. Binding the other's weapon, Kyncade grabbed the man he thought to be Blair and, with a twist, threw him off the cliff into the sea below. 

Braquet, having failed to capture the men he was chasing, returned to see the battle's end. Quickly he moved to stand at Kyncade's side. 

"The King commanded that his life was to be spared." he yelled over the sounds of the crashing surf. 

"Who is to tell the King? D'Ellison? And lose his neck?" Kyncade chuckled as he looked over the cliff at the sea below. "You and I are the only two witnesses." 

"There is still Symon." Braquet reminded. 

Kyncade turned, stalking back to his horse. "Symon? He will soon learn that he has already lost." 

* * *

Sinking below the surface, D'Ellison struggled to remove the mask whose weight was dragging him ever deeper under the water. Fighting against the need to breathe, he pulled at the closure, trying to pry the two halves apart. Finally as he lost his grip on consciousness, the mask separated and D'Ellison floated to the surface. 

* * *

Slowly, gently, the barely conscious body slid to rest on the shore. Above the sound of the surf he could hear his name being called. 

"Captain D'Ellison!" Henri called, spotting the body. "Captain!" 

As Henri pulled the man further up on the sand, D'Ellison began choking and spitting water. Regaining his breath, he uttered one word. 

"Blair?" 

Helping him stand, Henri guided James up the beach to the cliffside where the other soldiers and an injured Blair waited. 

"Thank God. You're alive! " James cried, falling to his knees beside the younger man, his hearing automatically focusing on Blair's rapid heartbeat and shallow breaths. He noticed Blair gripping his upper arm at the same time as he picked up the scent of blood. "Are you all right? Let me look." 

"I'm fine. But..." Blair, breathing heavily, was fighting to remain conscious. "Back there you...you called me 'my lord' then risked...risked your life to save mine. I...I don't understand. What is it you want from me? What...Who am I?" With that last word, Blair passed out. 

Jim, now confident that the wound was minor, brought his hand up to rest on the unconscious man's cheek. "You, my prince, are the true King of Wyndmoor." 

* * *

Chapter Thirteen 

Standing at a bedroom window, James looked out over the sun-dappled meadow that surrounded Symon's estate at Ambler. It had been a week since Blair's rescue, a week of trying to force the younger man to rest, a week of endless questions and measured answers, a week James knew he'd never forget. 

He didn't understand his attraction to this teacher. He was a man of physical action, not scholarly pursuits. By no means ignorant, he simply found physical exercises more interesting and rewarding than mental ones. So how did he explain his need to be constantly in Blair's presence? 

And it was a need, James admitted to himself. When not with Blair, his found that his senses usually sought the younger man out, trying to find his heartbeat or pick up his scent. Almost as if they were connected, James found his senses were sharper when he was with Blair, more acute yet more controlled. 

Then there were the other feelings, feelings having nothing to do with his heightened senses. Feelings of belonging and permanence, of being complete. Love, perhaps? 

James shook his head and turned away from the window. He must stop these thoughts, fight these feelings. Blair was not some peasant boy he picked up on the street to satisfy his needs. Blair was his Prince and would soon, God willing, be his King. 

* * *

Blair sat on the bed, still dressed in his nightshirt, watching the man by the window. 

The past month had been a nightmare of ever-growing proportion, beginning with the kidnapping from his very bed, to being thrown in prison only to be taken from there to an even worse confinement. Then, without warning, his savior, his Blessed Protector, appeared to save him from the madness. 

In the week since his rescue, Blair had almost fully recovered from his wound and his imprisonment. He'd met Minister Symon, the owner of this estate and had finally been introduced to the man who had risked his life for Blair. 

Captain James D'Ellison. 

From their first meeting in the cell, when the mask had been removed, Blair felt a connection with this somber, almost stoic, man. He had enjoyed the pleasures of a few men in his lifetime but never had he had felt such a deep feeling of belonging with anyone. 

And there was more. Blair felt an inexplicable trust for this virtual stranger, as if he instinctively knew that James would never hurt him, that James would die protecting him. He knew that James watched him constantly and, at times, Blair could swear James was 'listening' to him. Not to the words he was saying, but rather to what his body was saying. James would turn his head ever so slightly and Blair just knew the man was listening to his heartbeat. 

He'd started asking questions from the moment he had awoken on that first day. Both Symon and James answered questions such as 'Who is after me 'and 'What is happening', although not in the detail that Blair would have liked. But as soon as Blair turned the questioning to James' ability to listen or, as Blair recently noticed, his ability to see, the two men would change the subject, suggesting perhaps that he should rest or eat. 

Now James was here with him, explaining the current situation again. He looked up as James turned from the window. 

"Is the resemblance really so striking?" 

James nodded. "You could be his twin." 

"Difficult to believe. I have heard the tale of his twin but they say the child died at birth." 

"Still, such myths are enough to make you a threat, especially to ambitious men such as Kyncade. A threat or an asset." 

Blair rose and walked over to the mirror above the mantel. He stared at his reflection, at the face that, he was told, so resembled the King. 

"James, is my chance resemblance to the King all that lies behind all these strange events?" When D'Ellison didn't answer, Blair turned to face him. "A simple 'yes' from you is all the assurance I need." 

James smiled at the faith he could read in those deep blue eyes. "Trust me, please. What we do here is not for personal gain but for Wyndmoor." 

There was a knock at the door and D'Ellison moved to answer it. "Oh, thank you, Taggert," he said, taking a pile of clothes from the servant. Walking over to Blair, who was now standing by the window, James handed him the clothing. 

"Come now. It is time for you to dress. There is much for you to learn." 

"At last." Blair laughed, taking the pile. "I am so tired of playing the invalid." 

"Good. For now, I shall teach you to play the King." 

* * *

Chapter Fourteen 

The following days were filled with lessons, teaching skills, imparting facts, all in preparation. Teaching Blair turned out to be an easy undertaking. There was dancing and riding practice, designed to take Blair's existing skill to the level of someone who had had the luxury of the best teachers his entire life. And Blair's riding abilities were extensive. 

James enjoyed these sessions, amazed at Blair's ability to learn quickly. He was shocked when informed that the young man had never used a sword. Being part of the military, this was inconceivable to James. How could a man, any man, survive in this world without knowing how to use a sword? Blair had taken the time to explain to James that there were other ways to settle disputes without someone ending up with holes in his body. 

Still, Blair understood the need to acquire these skills and took to the training with his normal zeal. 

"Do it again," James instructed. "And slowly. When you practice slowly, you learn fast. And rhythmically." He demonstrated the parries. "Stick it. Here! Here! Here! " When Blair mimicked the motions, James nodded. "Good. Now again." 

It was with the pistol that James found Blair's weakness. The technical was not an issue; after a few moments Blair could load the powder, packing and shot with an efficient ease. It was the philosophical that caused the problem. 

Blair hated guns. 

In his mind, swordsmanship was a skill of defense, used to delay and disarm a potential enemy. The only purpose of a gun was to kill, something Blair adamantly refused to do. He would rather surrender than defend himself with a pistol. 

It was only when James mentioned the possible need for Blair to defend him, to protect the Captain in their upcoming fight, that Blair reluctantly conceded. 

In an area behind the stables several posts had been driven into the ground. Atop each post was a target, James hoped, large enough for Blair to hit. They had been at this for over almost an hour and Blair had yet to strike a one. 

Frustrated but determined not to give up, James walked over to the equally frustrated Blair, standing dejectedly with the loaded pistol at his side. 

"It is no use, James. I simply cannot do this." 

"You can do anything you set your mind to, Blair." 

"How can you say that? I haven't hit a target yet!" 

James stood beside the younger man. "That is because you flinch every time the pistol fires. You must hold your aim if you wish to hit the target." 

"But I've tried!" 

James smiled, amazed at how this brilliant, strong young man could sometimes sound so much like a child. Shaking his head, he moved to stand behind his prince. 

"Here, let me show you." Snaking his left arm around the smaller man's waist, he molded himself to Blair's body. "You know the force is coming." Using his other arm, he steadied Blair's right hand as he took aim. "You must brace yourself." 

"I understand." Blair replied, feeling James' warmth along the length of his back. 

James, too, felt the warmth. Plastered as he was to Blair's back, he could actually feel his heartbeat. He felt himself harden, as his own body responded to this closeness. With his nose mere inches from Blair's head, he could smell the herbs the younger man used to wash his hair. Without thinking, he lowered his face, burying his nose in the curly brown tresses. Herbs and sweat and that uniqueness that was Blair flooded his senses, surrounding him and, suddenly, that was all that existed... 

* * *

Blair stood in James' embrace, the pistol pointed at the target, enjoying the feel of the strong muscular body pressed against his. Since beginning his training, Blair found his feelings for the older man growing until, in his private moments, he admitted that he was in love. And in those same moments he would dream of the two men embracing, sharing warm kisses, joining their bodies in passion. Alone at night, he had enjoyed the consequences of many such dreams. 

However, in all of their time together, James never gave any indication that he shared Blair's interest. James was protective and Blair was sure that he was cared for. And there were times that James treated him not like a prince but more like a brother. But never had James treated him as a potential lover. 

Yet, as they stood silently in this field, Blair could feel the growing hardness pushing into his back, his own body hardening in response. Could this be the soldier's silent attempt to make his feelings known? 

Realizing that they had been standing there for some time, Blair reluctantly broke the silence. 

"Ah...James?" When no response was forthcoming, he became worried. "James?" 

Moving out of the soothing embrace, he turned to find James, his eyes closed, standing frozen in place. Lowering the arm that James still held out before him, Blair placed his hands on the taller man's shoulders and called him again. 

"James!" 

Growing panicked at the lack of response, Blair tried to think of a solution. "Calling him didn't work. Neither did touching him." Blair looked at James' face, noticing the lines of tension that were normally present smoothed and relaxed. Whatever had happened seemed to have been an agreeable experience. His attention was drawn to James' lips, dusky pink and moist and slightly parted. 

"maybe...just maybe..." 

Licking his lips, Blair stepped closer. 

* * *

The scents swirled, surrounding him, wrapping him in a bubble of comfort. Something told him he should resist but he ignored that thought as he concentrated on the aroma that was Blair. Then the scent seemed to move away and he concentrated harder, fighting to stay amidst the sweetness. Murmurs that could have been words tried to infiltrate his cocoon but he ignored them, wanting only to stay where he was. 

Then there was a moist warmth and his cocoon was shattered by a taste sweeter than the sweetest honey and the scents and taste converged and James had to possess it, had to delve deeper into this tempest of pleasure. 

Suddenly his fingers were tangled in silken curls, his tongue was plunging into sweet moistness, his nose was overwhelmed with the scent of arousal. 

'By all that is holy...' His eyes snapped open, allowing his sight to confirm his worst fear. 

He was kissing Blair! 

* * *

Blair's inner battle was blazing. 'This isn't right. I shouldn't take advantage. But it feels so right, so good.' 

He unconsciously leaned into the kiss, using his tongue to gently part the other's lips. 

'What if James doesn't like this? Should I stop?' 

The feel of large hands burying themselves into his hair, pulling him closer to the strong, hard body, convinced him otherwise. 

Losing himself in the sensations, he was startled when, suddenly, James pushed him away, breaking the kiss and nearly knocking Blair to the ground. 

"What are you doing?" the large man shouted, his steel blue gaze lancing Blair's heart. 

"I...you...I mean...." Blair stammered, his face coloring in embarrassment at James' obvious anger. 

But James had turned away and Blair cursed his own foolishness. In one impulsive moment he had jeopardized his relationship, his very friendship with the most important person in his life. 

He had to do something, say something to make this right. Steeling himself for what could be total rejection, he cleared his throat and spoke. 

"You...you seemed to fade off somewhere, as if you were lost in your own mind. I tried shaking you and calling you but it did no good. So I thought..." 

"You thought kissing me would be the answer?" Blair looked up as James spoke, surprised at the lack of anger in the words. 

Tilting his head slightly, Blair shrugged his shoulders. "It worked, didn't it?" He smiled slightly, waiting for the other man's reaction. 

"Yes, it appears that it did." James cleared his throat and walked over to the targets, making sure they were secure on the posts. "But you should never do that again." 

"Did it not please you?" Blair asked as he tried to contain his smile. He knew he had been pleased. 

"No. It did not please me." 

Those words, spoken so definitively, were like shards of ice piercing Blair's heart. He thought James had enjoyed the kiss, thought that maybe James did care for him in that way. But he hadn't, not at all and as tears sprang to Blair's eye, he was glad the other man's back was to him. He was glad that James could not see his embarrassment and his shame. 

Although James continued to check the targets, the silence grew unbearable to Blair. How could he have been so stupid to think that someone as special as Captain James D'Ellison would fall in love with a nobody like him. And what could he now do to make this right? For, if he could not have James' love, he had to at least have the man's friendship. 

"I'm sorry, then," Blair apologized. "It won't happen again. It's just...well, I thought that maybe..." 

"Maybe what?" 

"That maybe you...I don't know...loved me?" 

There was a moment of still silence before James chuckled. "Of course I love you. After all, you are going to be my King." 

"That's all it is, then? The fact that I am to be you King?" 

"That's all it can be, Blair." 

Blair hoped that James, with his enhanced hearing, couldn't hear his heart breaking. 

Steeling himself against his disappointment, trying to appear strong, Blair apologized again. "Then I'm truly sorry for my actions. But, tell me this, James...what did happen to you? What caused you to fade away?" 

* * *

James stood at the targets, pretending to check them so that he didn't have to face his prince. He couldn't allow Blair to see the embarrassment in his face, the lie in his eyes. The kiss had pleased him, more than he ever thought possible. If he lived one hundred years he would never forget the pleasure of that one moment when they shared each other's lips. How could he have been so weak? How could he have allowed that to happen? Blair was his prince, his King, the man he had sworn to protect and to serve. 

He heard Blair's small gasp as he reacted to the words James had spoken, so cold and sharp. He heard Blair's heartbeat race and could smell the salt of Blair's tears. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to hurt Blair but this was how it had to be. As much as he loved Blair, as much as Blair loved him, they could never be more than friends. That was simply how it had to be. 

Blair's next question brought him out of his thoughts. "But, tell me James...what did happen to you? What caused you to fade away?" 

As much as he did not want to talk about his senses, the curse that caused his own father to hate him, that had separated him from his family, that forced him to be alone, he knew he must give Blair something. And, for reasons James did not completely comprehend, he felt sure that Blair would understand. Therefore, for only the second time in his life, he decided to tell the truth about his affliction. 

With a sigh, he turned from the targets. "Sometimes...I cannot explain why...everything seems to fade away, as if there is only one thing in my world. It is as if it is inside me and surrounding me and I cannot break free." He shook he head and walked over to pick up the pistol that had been forgotten on the grass. "I'm not explaining it correctly but I cannot do better." 

"You explain it just fine, James." Blair assured him. "This must be related to your enhanced senses." James head shot up at those words. "We are past the point of denial, James. I know your hearing and sight are enhanced. What of the other? Are taste, touch and smell just as sharp?" James nodded and Blair began to pace. "Do these 'fades' happen often?" 

"Not very. Sometimes, when I'm tired and I attempt to use my senses..." 

"It must be a result of concentration, then. If you are tired, you would concentrate harder, push yourself too far. What were you focused on this time when you began to 'fade'?" 

James stood silent for a moment. He could not tell this beautiful young man that the scent of his hair had sent him to oblivion. "The target" he lied. "I was concentrating on sighting the target when everything faded away." 

Blair stared at him for a moment, as if hearing the lie but deciding not to challenge it. "Fine." he said as he resumed his pacing. "So you were concentrating on the target. And what was it that brought you back?" 

"Taste." James whispered 

"Excuse me?" 

"Taste." James said louder, clearing his throat. "The next thing I recall is the taste of you and then..." 

"Very well," Blair nodded, trying not to smile. "So it is possible that a stimulation to another of your senses will break your concentration on the one. What we have to do in the future is to be certain that you never focus too much on just one sense." 

"We? You speak as if this curse is something we share. It isn't. This is my problem. I've been dealing with it my entire life and I shall continue to do so until it finally drives me mad." 

Blair moved to stand in front of James, placing his hands on the larger man's arms. "First thing, James, this is not a curse. It is a gift. You are Captain of the King's Guard and you can see, hear, smell, taste and feel a hundred times better than any other human in the kingdom. Do you realize the kind of advantage that gives you? You can protect the King from attacks no one else would even know was coming! What you do need, however, is control. And I can help you with that. This is something we can share!" 

"What do you know of this 'gift? What makes you think you can help?" 

Blair released his hold on the other man and began pacing again. "I know of a monograph written by an explorer who has traveled to the far off continents. He speaks of a tribal 'guardian', as it were. This guardian is responsible for patrolling the borders..." 

"A scout?" 

"No, much more than a simple scout. He watches for approaching enemies, the movement of game, changes in the weather. He is responsible for the care and protection of the entire tribe. They depend on him for their very survival. This guardian, or as the explorer called him, the 'Sentinel' is chosen because he possesses enhanced senses! When I first read the monograph I was fascinated. Imagine possessing these extraordinary abilities in today's world!" 

"I don't have to imagine, Chief." 

"What?" Blair stopped and looked at James, suddenly realizing what he had said. "Oh, right. But don't you see, James? When you learn to control these senses, just imagine what you could do?" 

"And you think you can teach me this control?" 

Blair smiled. "Yes, I think I can. The monograph also spoke of a companion to the Sentinel, someone who watched his back, kept him focused, someone who 'protected the protector'. I think, in this case, that person is me." 

"And why is that?" James chuckled. 

Blair stood before James, the look on his face serious. "Because we are connected. I feel it and I know that you do, too. You listen to my heartbeat; you track me wherever I am. You cannot deny it, James." 

"No," the soldier whispered. "I do not deny it. What would be the point? From the moment Henri removed that mask and I saw your face, I felt the connection. I cannot explain it but..." 

"You don't have to explain it, James. Simply accept it. And accept my help. As you teach me to be a King I can teach you to be a Sentinel." 

The two men stood facing each other, both taking in the measure of the other until, finally, James nodded. "Very well," he agreed. "We shall teach each other. But, first, you must learn to fire this pistol!" 

"Firing it isn't the problem," Blair chuckled, taking the gun from James' hand. "Hitting the target is!" 

* * *

Chapter Fifteen 

The training sessions continued with both men now working at their tasks. Although James was forced to admit that Blair would never be good with a pistol they did manage to get the younger man to hit the practice targets...some of the time. James prayed that the need would never arise for Blair to use the pistol. 

Riding was one of the skills at which Blair did not have to work very hard. James could see Blair's love of animals and was not surprised to learn that he had been riding almost before he could walk. These lessons, then, were more of style than skill, working to mimic the movements well enough to imitate the King. 

It was during these session that Blair became the teacher, using these opportunities to test James and to suggest methods of control. And, as his control became better, James found that he could direct his senses, even use them at his will. 

Yet Blair's lessons had to take precedent. Although James' senses could be a benefit in their upcoming challenge, if Blair was not completely trained, their battle would be lost before it had even begun. 

There were the sessions of dance, when James was permitted to see Blair's natural grace set to music. He relished the moments when he could hold the young man's hand and guide him through the elaborate steps of the minuet. There was something sensual about watching the shoulder length hair bounce and sway with the steps, as Blair concentrated on his movements. As their bodies move together then apart, James was aware of the slightly musky scent of arousal he detected coming from the younger man. Yet he fought his body's own response. He knew that he and Blair shared this attraction but it would never come to more. Blair was, after all, a King. 

The most difficult lessons, and the most dangerous, were the histories, the family connections that drew Wyndmoor and the surrounding countries together. These were the facts that King Ryen would know without thinking and, consequently, Blair must know them, too. Yet, even with his ability of almost total recall, Blair still had difficulty keeping everything straight. 

In the parlor, both men leaned over a table strewn with books as Blair worked on memorizing the elaborate lineage chart.... 

"...and Ryen of Wyndmoor is the first." 

"Good. Now, the left side of the family...Henry the third?" 

"Henry the third is my grandfather..." 

"Wrong!" 

"No, wait...he's..." 

"Your great grandfather." 

"Yes, my great grandfather." 

"Henry the fourth?" 

"Henry the fourth? My grandfather." 

"Exactly!" 

The memory tests carried through to their other lessons, James never wasting an opportunity assess Blair's recall. 

The two men were using blunted rapiers as they worked the fight routine, a skill that Blair was quickly developing. The sun was shining brightly and, even with the slight breeze, sweat covered their faces as they worked their way around the manor, trading thrusts and parries, attacks and counterattacks. 

"What is you mother's name?" 

"Naomi of Abington" Blair lunged, a move that James quickly parried. 

"Grandmother?" 

"Maria de Medici" 

They continued trading moves as James continued firing off questions. 

"Maternal grandfather?" 

"Phillip the Third of Croyden!" 

"Good! Paternal grandfather?" 

"Henry the Fourth of Wyndmoor." 

James smiled. "Good. Come!" Following James, Blair jumped atop the low wall on the bridge that spanned the moat. "Parry high and lunge," the older man instructed. "Go! " 

As Blair did as instructed, he over balanced and fell from the wall into the water below. He came up sputtering, tossing his wet hair out of his face. Removing his fencing mask, James leaned over the wall and laughed. 

"It's coming along very nicely, I think. Very nicely." 

* * *

For days, the lessons continued... 

...dance practice 

"Keep your chin up, Blair. And, again...one, two, three and one..." 

...riding 

"Sit proud! You are the master" 

...sword 

Blair lunged. D'Ellison parried the move, pinning Blair's sword beneath his foot "Who was Sire William?" 

"My father's First Minister, my mother's first lover." 

"Good, good. Again." D'Ellison released Blair's sword and they continued, James pressing the attack. "Sire Symon?" 

"Minister of the Interior. Friend and ally." Blair responded as he met the challenge, his swordsmanship now almost the equal to D'Ellison. 

"Garrett Kyncade?" 

At Kyncade's name, Blair responded in anger. "Minister of Finance!" He lunged at D'Ellison who parried and, with a twist of his wrist, disarmed the smaller man. 

While holding Blair's angry gaze, James called to a young servant. "Jason, bring me that." He indicated a water bucket and cup, which the young boy immediately retrieved. Dismissing the boy, James dipped the cup into the bucket, filling it, his eyes still locked on Blair. "If you are to rule this great nation, you must learn this first... 

He tossed the water in Blair's face. 

"Keep cool. In battle and in sport. Never let your anger take you out of the competition." 

The sound of an approaching coach caused both men to turn. Recognizing it as Kyncade's carriage, D'Ellison handed Blair his fencing mask, instructing him to wait. James walked swiftly to meet the coach at the steps to the chateau. 

As the coach came to a stop, Kyncade stepped out then turned back to speak to the other passenger, the Lady Megan. 

"Wait here, my dear. I promise I shall be brief." 

Watching from the distance, Blair recognized Kyncade and pulled on the fencing mask to protect his identity. 

James walked up to the Minister, his hand extended. "Sire Kyncade, what an unexpected surprise." 

With a small nod of his head, Kyncade accepted the handshake. "Please forgive the interruption but the King did request that I check his escort for the journey to my chateau." His eyes scanned the grounds, his attention drawn to the young man in the distance. "But please, do not let me interrupt your exercise." 

Kyncade took a step towards Blair but James stepped in front of him, trying to casually block the Minister's path. 

"Nonsense." James chuckled. "It's a welcome intrusion for an aging swordsman." Trying to distract Kyncade's attention from Blair, he called out to the young man. "Thank you, Michael. That will be all for today." Taking Kyncade's arm, James gently led him towards the manor. 

"Come, we'll adjourn to the salon for a glass of wine." 

As the two men walked away, Blair ripped off the mask in anger. The man who had kidnapped him and locked him in that prison, who had attacked and almost killed his rescuer, was here pretending to be their friend. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands around that neck and... 

Blair took a deep cleansing breath and let it out slowly. Regardless of what he wanted to do, he knew that to be discovered would mean not only his death but also the death of those who had helped him. With that thought, he turned and ran into the nearby gardens, to hide himself safely in the trees. 

* * *

Once the men disappeared inside, Megan, disregarding Kyncade's instructions, climbed down from the coach. If she was forced to be in the company of this vile man, at least she could enjoy the peaceful scenery. Casually she walked toward the garden and entered the cool shade of the trees. 

Suddenly, Blair step from behind a tree and Megan immediately dropped into a curtsy, thinking him to be the King. It only took her a moment for her to realize her error. 

"You!" she stared at him in amazement as she rose. "The Fortress!" 

"Aye." Blair smiled as he stepped closer. 

"How is it you are here?" 

"By such means as neither you or I could ever comprehend." 

"And my father?" 

"Well, when last I saw him." 

"Thank God. " Sudden voices in the background alerted Megan. "You are in danger here." 

"Come." Taking her arm, Blair led her deeper into the gardens. When they were out of sight from prying eyes, he turned to face the young woman. "Megan..." 

"You remember my name?" 

Blair blushed. "I remember everything about you." 

"We met but for a moment, hardly longer." 

"Yet you remember me." 

"How could I forget?" 

"I made your father tell me all about you. We spoke of nothing else. I even know you cut your knee when you fell off you pony as a girl." He took her hands and smiled. "It's as if we've been friends all of my life." 

"I'm no longer the child my father spoke of." Megan said sadly, turning away. "What could you see in me now?" 

With sadness, she walked away from Blair and stopped beside a climbing vine of roses. Blair followed and, plucking a rose, handed it to her. 

"I see a woman who loves her father deeply, who loves Raphe so much she would sacrifice everything to keep them both safe." 

"You know of Raphe?' 

Blair nodded as his ran the bud of the rose down her nose, teasingly. Taking the flower, Megan noted that Blair has pricked his finger. 

"You are bleeding." She pulled a handkerchief from her small purse and gently wrapped it around the wound. 

"I've dreamt of this moment, to be able to talk to you again." Blair lowered his gaze, watching her work. "I have little family, you know. No one to care about me. When your father told me of you and your childhood, I felt as if I was perhaps a part of your family." He blushed, then met her eyes. "I came to believe you were my sister. The sister of my heart, if not my blood." 

"I, too, felt a connection between us. I have feared for your safety and prayed to be able to see you again...brother." The two smiled shyly at each other. "Yet I'd dared not hope, dared not dream." 

"What need have you to dream, with my double so near at hand?" 

A look of disgust crossed Megan's face. "The two of you are worlds apart. I am revolted by your brother." Blair's stunned expression drew her closer. "What is it? What is wrong?" 

"Brother?" 

Megan nodded. "The King." 

Blair turned away, unable to believe his ears. "My brother?" 

"Surely you knew..." Megan spoke softly, seeing his distress. 

"They said the resemblance was purely chance." 

"They deceive you, then." 

"But...I...his twin?" 

Megan stepped closer, turning Blair to face her, placing her hand lightly on his left shoulder 

"You have a birthmark, do you not?" 

Blair reacted as if slapped, jolted by the sudden knowledge. "God, it is true then." He moved away, feeling the need for space. He had been lied to by the only people he thought he could trust. As the events of the recent past fell into place in his mind, he looked at Megan, pleadingly. "Is there no one I can trust?" 

"No" she responded sadly, shaking her head. "You are a king." 

Suddenly, a shout interrupted them. "Megan?" 

"Kyncade!" Megan hissed, as Blair took her hands in his. "If I don't go, he'll come looking for me." 

"Beautiful lady, my life is in these hands." 

"Then it is safe and sound, my friend." 

"Megan?" Kyncade called again, this time his voice closer. 

"He must not find you." Megan whispered, pulling away from her young friend. "Protect yourself, whatever you may do." With that she turned and ran from the garden, the rose still grasped in her hand. 

* * *

Chapter Sixteen 

Again warmth and sunshine graced the palace gardens as the royal family, shaded by their pavilion and surrounded by the remaining court, watched the performance of the Royal Ballet. The dancers, dressed in silver and white silk, circled around a central performer. As they moved in their intricate patterns, the dancers parted to reveal the King, dressed in gold and white silk, his face painted gold, a golden wig and large golden crown adorning his head. 

Moving slowly through the performance, the King spied Megan in the audience, her attention obviously somewhere else. Trying to concentrate on the precision of his movements, he was distracted by the young woman as she sat, absently moving a small flower under her nose. His annoyance grew as he watched a small smile touch her lips. 

After a few more steps, the King threw his arms out with a flourish, signaling the end of the dance. Amid the audience applause, the King walked over to Megan, a look of anger on his face. 

"Our ballet has bored you, my dear?" 

Megan stood at the King's approach, the rose held tightly in her fingers. 

"Your Majesty misconstrues." 

"Give us your opinion, then." 

Megan looked around uncomfortably, to see all eyes focused on her. "Very nice." 

"Nice!" he snorted, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "We are overwhelmed by your praise. Yet still we feel you prefer your silly rose to our lavish ballet." 

"Not at all, Sire." She brought the rose up to her face, sniffing the flower "I merely enjoy its fragrance. 

The King stepped closer. "You find a simply flower more beautiful than our creation?" 

Throwing caution to the wind, Megan stood her ground. "Only in that its beauty is natural, not painted on or contrived." 

The surrounding courtiers gasped at her apparent insolence. Ryen, a cruel smile on his face, took the rose from her hand and, looking into her eyes, pulled it apart, letting the pieces fall to the ground. 

"There," he smiled triumphantly. "You see how temporary your natural beauty is?" 

Megan could barely contain her anger at his cruelty. "Such beauty as Your Majesty has just destroyed will endure in my heart forever." She pushed past the King and ran off. At that moment Kyncade walked over to stand beside the King. 

"How is it, Kyncade?" his voice filled with wonder as he lightly fingered his mustache. "She spurns us, she scorns us yet even now we are more a prisoner of her charms then ever." Shading his eyes from the sun, the King looked after her as she ran away. 

* * *

In the shade of the pavilion, the King's actions did not go unnoticed by the Queen or his mother. 

"You cannot allow this to continue, Madame. Each day this girl humiliates you more." 

"It is not the girl, Madame, but her suitor, your son, who brings disgrace upon our house." 

Overhearing the Queen's remark, the King walked into the shade of the pavilion, moving to stand beside her. "The only disgrace in this household, Madame, is our marriage." 

Caroline stood, the anger apparent in her rigid body. "In God's name, Ryen. I am you wife." 

"Wife? Nay." he smiled. "Say, rather, burden." He took her hand and led her down the carpeted steps. "For the sake of Wyndmoor and our beloved mother, we agreed to appease Croyden and got this...baggage in the bargain." 

The crowd stood quietly, obviously used to witnessing the King's public humiliation of the Queen. 

"Ryen," 

At the sound of his name, the King looked over his shoulder at his mother. 

"You are speaking to the mother of your children." 

He chuckled. "Aye, and there's a miracle, Madame. Far easier to span Rhodes Harbor than to husband this mountain of sallow flesh." 

Embarrassed, the Queen Caroline turned to move away but the King grabbed her arm, pulling her close. "Oh, come, my sweet. Before you leave, let the world behold the special vision of ecstasy that greets these royal eyes each night when we retire." 

With those words, the King reached up and pulled the wig off Caroline's head to reveal only a few wisps of thin, almost nonexistent hair. The assembled court gasped as the King walked away, enjoying the woman's humiliation. 

One of the Queen's ladies came out of the crowd to place a scarf over Caroline's head. 

"May God forgive me," Caroline hissed, as she pulled the scarf tightly around her head, her voice tense with anger. "If I could bear to see my children fatherless, I would wish him dead." 

* * *

Chapter Seventeen 

The three men sat in front of the fire, the remains of their barely eaten meal littering the table between them. Symon's servant, Taggert, quietly tended the hearth. 

Finally the lengthy silence was broken by Blair's whisper. "You knew. All this time you knew and yet you did not tell me." 

Although he knew the comment was directed at them both, James waited for Symon to answer. Since Kyncade's departure yesterday, the only conversation he and Blair had had was the younger man's terse demand to 'speak with Symon now!' Feeling the force of Blair's anger, James had dispatched a courier, informing Symon of the crisis that only he could avert. 

"Is your faith so shaken that you cannot trust us any further?" the Minister asked quietly "If so, all is lost." 

Blair raised his eyes from the table to look at the taller man, ignoring James in the process. "You saved my life and rescued me from hell. Who else am I to trust?" Taking a deep, calming breath, he exhaled slowly then met the Minister's eyes. "Well, let me know the plan." 

"Simply this - the overthrow of the King during Kyncade's celebration at Radnor. There is, however, for you one condition." 

"What price this crown?" 

Symon continued, choosing to ignore Blair's comment. "The transition of power must be swift and smooth. The world must never be aware that any change has taken place. You must, therefore, agree to rule as Ryen the sixth." 

Shock crossed Blair's face as his eyes moved from Symon to James then back again. "As Ryen?" 

"For the rest of your natural life." 

"Wait one moment." Blair shook his head in disbelief before looking hard at Symon. "As firstborn, am I not the rightful heir?" 

"Right or wrong has little to do with this, I'm afraid. It is a matter of political necessity. Wyndmoor is too unstable now to risk a coup." 

"But... what of me? I am not Ryen. I am Blair. Am I never to be myself? What of me?" 

His voice had risen in a mixture of anger and outrage. Taking a deep breath and reminding himself to remain calm, Blair spoke quietly. "No." he said, dismissively "I refuse to take any part in such a travesty." 

Now it was Symon's turn to be angry. "What of me? Poor Blair!" he mocked. "It sickens me to listen to such selfishness. These old eyes have seen too much suffering, while you...you lie abed in Dryden snug and safe, far from Ryen's reach. Well, my pampered young prince, there were others less fortunate. Consider, for example, my trusted servant, Taggert." At the mention of his name Taggert moved to stand beside Symon. "Have you never wondered at his constant silence?" At Blair's silent stare, Symon continued. "It's simple, really. He has no tongue. They cut it out. His crime? This man, the only living witness of your birth, refused to divulge the secret of your whereabouts." Taking Taggert's arm, Symon urged the servant to stand before Blair, his hands held out before him. "But, before you sever a tongue, you always try persuasion." 

Aghast at Symon's words, Blair absently reached out to take Taggert's hands and looked at the fingers, crooked from many breakings, the ends blunted and scarred where the nails had been ripped out. As he looked up at Taggert in sudden realization, the older man went to his knees, swearing silent allegiance to his King. Blair placed his hand gently on the bowed head, acknowledging the pledge then urged the man to rise. 

Seeing the pain and realization in the younger man's eyes, Symon spoke softly. "There is a place, in the distant mountains, an estate where the sun is soft, the soil rich and the game plentiful. You are free to return there and live out the rest of your life in peace and tranquility, your royal identity forever a secret, your needs amply provided for. No one will blame you if you choose the safe road." 

"The sacrifice is either myself or my inheritance." 

Finally, James spoke. "Your birthright is the crown of Wyndmoor." 

Blair rose and moved to stand before the fireplace, staring at the large portrait on the wall, the portrait of the stranger who was his father. 

"Did you know my father well, D'Ellison?" Blair asked quietly, his back still to the other man. 

"Enough to love him ever." 

"He was a brave man?" 

"There was no braver, gentler man in all the world. It is a pity you never knew him." 

"And I am his firstborn. I am the rightful heir to his throne." Blair paced the room between the fireplace and the table, his mind weighting the options. 

"Claim it, then." Symon counseled. "For a while you will have to practice patience, true, but in time your own personality may emerge and eventually blot out all traces of Ryen. But not at first." 

With his back still to the other men, Blair pulled Megan's handkerchief from his pocket, using it as a reminder of how his friend and many others had suffered at the hands of his brother. He considered all that he could do as king, all the good he could accomplish. Did it really matter what name he used? Was recognition so important? Were not the actions the important thing, regardless of the name? 

As if reading Blair's thoughts, D'Ellison spoke softly. "Wyndmoor could be the envy of the world." 

Suddenly Blair turned to face the others, his decision made. "My friends, I accept." 

Symon and D'Ellison both stood, raising their glasses. "God save the King!" 

* * *

The table had been cleared and Symon retired and still Blair sat in a chair before the fire, silently staring at the flames. James reentered the room, knowing he had to do something to break down this wall that now separated him from his friend. 

He knew Blair felt betrayed; felt that, more than any other, James had lied to him. And he had. James never wanted this, the secrets and the lies. And never did he want this separation from the quirky young man who had become so important to him. But what could he now say, what could he now do, to rebuild that trust? How did he begin? 

The decision was taken from him at Blair's quiet voice. 

"You lied to me." 

James hung his head and walked over to stand by the chair opposite Blair. Looking at the young man, seeing the pain and hurt in his face, James knew his only option was the truth. 

"Yes, Sire. I did." 

"So Kyncade was right. I'm simply a player in a game. Yet not even a player: a pawn. Whether at your hand or his, I am just a piece to be played, an advantage to be taken." 

"You are the rightful King of Wyndmoor." 

"And you have known this for how long? When did you find out that Ryen was not the heir?" 

"When I was 10 years old." 

Blair finally looked over at him and James held his gaze, hoping the younger man would see the pain and the truth in his eyes. He could see those blue eyes register many emotions still Blair could not mask the accusation in his voice. 

"Twenty-five years. That is practically my entire life. All that time you knew the truth, knew that Sire William had taken me from my home and family and yet you said nothing. Why?" 

"Who could I have told, Blair?" James asked defensively. "I was but a child against the great Sire William. Who would have believed me?" 

"Your own father would not have believed you? Your own father would not have helped?" 

"Sire William was my father!" 

The echo of the shouted words faded and still the men stared at each other. Finally, Blair broke the silence. 

"So, then... that is it. You seek to complete the task your father began." 

"No! Never!" James moved to Blair's side, kneeling before his chair. "Sire, you must believe me. What we do now we do for the benefit of Wyndmoor. Ryen is a cruel and selfish King, caring nothing for his people. You are a good and honest man. You are the miracle these people have been praying for. Neither Symon nor I would every wish to change you. " 

"And yet you already have. You ask me to steal a kingdom from my brother, then rule the people in his name. Where is the goodness and honesty in that?" 

"I swore to devote my life to righting the wrong my father committed. That is what we are doing. You are not stealing the kingdom, you are reclaiming what was taken from you. And you are a good man, Blair. You must believe me. You are the best man I have ever known." 

"Believe you?!" Blair shouted, pushing himself out of the chair and almost knocking James to the floor. "Believe you! Like I believed you when you said my resemblance was pure chance? Or when you said that you would never hurt me? Tell me James... who was it who had me thrown into the Fortress? That was you, was it not? It has been nothing but lies from the beginning! And yet you tell me I must believe you!!! How can I?" Blair stalked over to the door, his body rigid in anger. 

James did not know what to say, how to respond. He wanted to tell Blair that he was wrong, that there were reasons and explanations but he could think of no words that the young man would hear. 

As Blair's hand rested on the door latch he stopped, his voice a soft whisper. "I thought you cared. I thought that you ...loved me. But it has all been a lie. I have been such a fool!" With that, Blair pulled open the door and ran out, slamming it behind him. 

James stood silently, unmoving, as a tear slid slowly down his face. He had lost. Even if Blair should continue with their plan, he would never believe James again. He would never trust him, never guide him, never...love him again. 

Lost, James crumbled into the chair before the fire, feeling as if his entire world had been destroyed. 

* * *

Chapter Eighteen 

Symon opened the door to his chamber, the shouted words drawing his attention. He listened to the anger and hurt in the younger man's voice and could only imagine the pain James was experiencing. Suddenly the door to the parlor opened and Blair came storming out, heading for his own room. Symon knew what he had to do. 

"Blair." he called, stopping the younger man just as he reach the door to his chamber. 

"Yes?" Blair answered, not turning to face the older man. 

"Could you come in here please? There are things I think you should know." 

Blair turned and looked at Symon, taking in the proud man whose eyes, usually hard and demanding, were now filled with compassion. With a sigh and a sense of defeat, Blair turned and walked into the Minister's chamber. 

Symon closed the door and turned to find his prince standing by the fire, his back rigid with anger and pain. "Please, my prince, have a seat." 

Blair turned to look at Symon and the older man could see the tracks of tears still fresh on his face. When he indicated the chair, Blair walked over and sat, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Symon moved over to the cupboard and busied himself with pouring two glasses of wine, giving the younger man time to compose himself. Finally, taking the filled glasses, he handed one to Blair then sat in the opposite chair, waiting. 

When the younger man failed to speak and silence began to grow tense, Symon spoke. "You were a little hard on him, don't you think?" 

Blair's head snapped up, his eyes blazing in anger. 

"Hard on him!!! He lied to me!" 

"He withheld some facts." 

"He had me thrown into prison!" 

"He tried to keep you safe." 

"Bloody lot of good that did." 

Symon allowed a smile to touch is lips. "Even the best of intentions sometimes go awry." 

Blair stared at the older man for a moment then dropped his gaze to the glass in his hands, shaking his head. "Who am I to believe, Symon? Who am I to trust?" 

"If you are to trust only one man in this entire kingdom, trust James D'Ellison." 

"But how can I?" Blair looked at Symon, seeking truth in those deep brown eyes. 

"How can you not? He has spent his entire life protecting you, sacrificing everything, even his own family, to keep you safe. You are the only thing in this world that matters to him." 

"I want to believe you, Symon. I want to trust him but..." 

"What did he tell you? What did he explain?" 

"Only that he has known of me since he was a child of ten and that Sire William, the man that stole me from my family, was his father." 

Symon shook his head. "That is so like James, to tell the most damning parts but not to speak of the rest." He rose and walked over to the cupboard, grabbing the decanter of wine and returning to his chair. "Let me refill your glass then I ask you to listen as I tell you a story." 

Blair nodded and Symon poured the wine as he began to speak. 

"Sire William and your father, Richard, were best friends since childhood. When your father claimed the throne as a young man he appointed William First Minister without even a second thought. After all, who could he trust more than his best friend? 

"Sire William served the King faithfully for many years, protecting him, providing counsel, giving everything he had. And your father rewarded him handsomely. But as William's power grew he changed, became a man obsessed. Power was all he cared for. 

"When the marriage between the King and your mother was arranged, William saw a chance to control the throne. He befriended the young woman from Abington, alone in a strange country and married to a man she did not know. He helped her to learn our customs, instructing her in the ways of our people. He counseled her on ways of wielding the power of her crown, how to get what she wanted yet always supporting the King. And he taught her of the man she had married so that, he said, they could rule together happily for many years. So he bided his time, gathering more power to him while appearing to be a trusted friend to both King and Queen. 

"During this time, his own family reaped the benefits of his power. But his wife, the Lady Grace, was unhappy. William spent all of his time at court, leaving her with an estate to manage and two sons to raise. Although there were servants and this was the life of a Minister's wife, Grace was frail and ailing and found the life very difficult. But Grace loved her children. James, her firstborn, was quiet and introspective. Stephen, the younger son, was like his father, always curious, always challenging. The two boys, although opposites in manner, were devoted to each other. James was constantly looking after Stephen, protecting him when necessary, always keeping him safe. 

"When James was seven years old, the Lady Grace died. Although there were some whispers, there was never any proof that it was not the simple fall that it appeared to be. William was forced to take time away from the court to attend to his sons. It was during this time that he witnessed James' abilities, abilities that his mother had fostered and encouraged. William, however, decided they were the work of the devil and forbade James to even mention them. It would not do to have it known that a man of his power had a son who was...different. As James grew older and his abilities remained, William pushed his son away, separating him from Stephen lest he 'contaminate' the younger boy. William even went so far as to take Stephen back to court with him and left James at the estate, with the servants." 

"How could he do that to his own son?" Blair whispered. "How could he be so cruel?" 

"William saw James as a detriment to his growing power, a disadvantage to be discarded. And, after all, he had a 'normal' son. So James remained at the estate, still the son of Sire William but never spoken of, abandoned by his father and separated from his brother. 

"A few years later, your mother became with child and William saw his opportunity. He planned to take the child, the first born of the King, and secret him away. And, should the child be a girl, he would simply dispose of her. Fate smiled upon him the day the Queen delivered twins." 

"But what did he hope to accomplish?" 

"He hoped, on the death of the King, to place his prince on the throne, thereby completely controlling the kingdom." 

"Much as you wish to do now?" 

Symon studied the young man who sat across from him. "Do you truly believe that, my prince? That James and I seek to control you?" 

Blair was silent for a moment, staring at the glass in his hand, then slowly shook his head. "No, Symon," he said softly. "I do not think that is what you wish." He brought his face up to look at the older man. "But how can I be sure? How do I know what James truly wants?" 

Symon smiled gently. "Allow me to finish the story and you will know." When Blair nodded, Symon continued. 

"Now James was a smart child. He knew that without his father's patronage, he had no future. He also knew that he had to keep his abilities secret, that to let them be known would be his downfall. So he watched and listened, keeping his 'curse' to himself. Then, one day, he was rewarded. 

"James was ten years old and his father, with a few of his subordinates, was at the estate. William had left Stephen at court, so as not to come under James' influence. William and his assistants were in the stables, preparing to ride and James was in the corral, much too far away to overhear any conversation. But that is exactly what happened. James heard the men discussing 'the child' and, for reasons he still cannot explain, listened closely. He learned of a cottage, not far away, where this child was being taken care of and how important is was that no one learned of the location. James knew he had to learn more. 

"After the men rode off, James decided to go through his father's papers. William was an avid journal keeper and James knew this. He knew that, if it held any importance to William, the man would write it down. James found his father's journal and scanned it, aghast when he realized what his father had done. Knowing he did not have the time but needing to read it all, James waited until his father came home then watched where the man hid the journal. Then, for the remainder of his father's visit, James used every moment that he could, when his father was sleeping or away from the estate, to read the entire journal. 

"After William returned to court, James decided that he must find the cottage where this child was being held. It took him some time but, finally, he succeeded. He found the cottage, with a farmer and his wife and a chubby little babe, all brown curls and blue eyes, just learning to walk. One look at that child and James knew what he had to do. He knew that, if it took his entire life, he had to protect that child from all who would harm him, his own father included. 

"So he watched and waited. He grew tall and strong and the whispers of his 'strangeness' faded into the past. He concealed his abilities, using them only to protect the child. Every time William had the child moved, every time new caretakers were assigned, James would track the child down and make certain he was safe. And still he waited. 

"James excelled with his tutors and went to university. Then, against the wishes of his father, James enlisted in the army. His strength and skills led him to be assigned to the Royal Guards, which is when he came to my attention. I was a minor minister in the King's court and had heard all the rumors concerning Sire William. I was more than intrigued to meet his son. 

"But James kept to himself, concentrating on his work, taking little time for friends. I found myself compelled to find out what drove this young man. I introduced myself and we talked and, over time, became friends. Then came the day when word was received of Sire William's death. A fall from a horse, it was said. Murdered on orders of the new young King, it was rumored. James was frantic to return home. I was surprised because I knew of his estrangement from his father. But I used what little influence I had to get him a leave. 

"A fortnight later James returned and he sought me out, saying that he had something he had to entrust to me, just in case something happened to him. That night, over a bottle of wine, he told me of your existence. He explained that he had returned to his father's estate to search out his father's papers, anything that pertained to you. He was determined that no one else should learn of your whereabouts." 

"But what of Sire William's assistants?" 

"In the days following Sire William's death, all of his assistants were arrested on charges of theft and fraud against the crown and were executed." 

"And his brother? What became of Stephen?" 

"Stephen fled the country, finally settling in Abington. Although he had not held his father's confidence, had not known his secrets, Stephen feared he would be thought guilty by simple association." 

"He did not know of me?" 

"No. With the journals gone, James was the only person who knew who you truly were. Until he told me. 

"When I learned what Sire William had done I realized James was right. Were anyone to learn of your existence, especially Sire Kyncade, the newly appointed First Minister, it would mean your death. So I swore to James that I, too, would do all in my power to protect you. 

"That vow seemed to lighten the load James carried. We talked of you often and he would tell me of the times he would see you, watching from afar. He spoke of you with such pride and, I realized, such love, that I knew there was no sacrifice so great that he would not make it for you." 

"You are wrong, Symon." Blair shook his head sadly. "James does not love me." 

"He loves you with every fiber of his being. You are the only thing of importance in his life. And now that you two have come together, I see that his love for you has taken a different direction, a direction that he feels is inappropriate." 

"Inappropriate? What so you mean?" 

Symon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Blair, we are a society of classes; servant and farmer, merchant and soldier, Minister and courtier. And supreme amongst them all is the royalty. Now James sees himself as a simple soldier, disowned by his father, making his way through life as best as he can. The fact that he has risen to the Captain of the King's Royal Guard, with help from no one seems not to matter to him. As far as he is concerned, he is a common man. 

"You, on the other hand, are a Prince of the realm, soon to be King. You would have a wife of royal blood and produce heirs for the future of the kingdom. And, even if heirs were not necessary, which in this case they are not, James is below your station. He is not fit to be the lover of a King." 

"How can you say that?" Blair shouted, rising angrily from his chair. "James is the smartest, strongest, bravest man I have ever known! If anything, it is I who am not fit to be his lover. I am naught but a teacher, a lowly clerk among the merchant class. I am nothing! He is...he is...everything!" 

Symon reached out and took Blair's hand, guiding the young man to sit in the chair. Grasping the hand in his, Symon smiled. "You love him truly?" 

"With all my heart." 

"Then believe me when I tell you that he loves you the same." 

"But how..." Blair looked up at Symon, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "How do I make him understand that he is not 'below' me, that I am but a simple man taking on a task at which, without James' help, I cannot possibly succeed?" 

"Talk to him, Blair. Do not shut him out. If I know James, he has convinced himself that he has betrayed you in the worst way and that he has lost your very friendship." 

"But that isn't true." 

"You are the only person who will be able to convince him of that." Symon chuckled. "Hell, boy, I've heard you talk. You could charm the birds out of the trees." 

"But can I charm James into my bed?" 

"If you set your mind to it, my prince, I believe that you can." 

Now it was Blair's turn to smile, his eyes sparkling this time with joy. "Then I best get to it, don't you think?" 

"I think that is best, my boy. If left too long to his own thoughts, James will bury himself in guilt so deep you will need a shovel to dig him out." 

With a chuckle, Symon led Blair to the door and opened it. Placing his hands on the younger man's shoulder he looked Blair hard in the face. "Go gently, my prince. James' love for you gives you the power to hurt him deeply. I would hate to see that happen." 

"I will do everything in my power to prevent that. In this you will have to believe me." 

Symon smiled at the man before him, not so young as he had first thought, and gave him a nod of approval. Blair turned and walked into the hall, pulling the door closed gently behind him. 

* * *

Chapter Nineteen 

Blair stood for a moment outside Symon's door, gathering his thoughts. He had to convince James of the truth of his feelings, convince him that they were not so very different. At the very least he had to apologize. 

Taking a deep breath, Blair returned to the parlor, opening the door slowly and leaning his head into the room. The fire had been banked and all the lights extinguished. It was obvious that the room was empty. 

Pulling the door closed again, Blair thought for a moment. James had most likely gone to bed. Blair hated to disturb him but he knew that their discussion could not wait. Heading down the corridor, Blair came to a stop outside James' room. He paused, momentarily doubting his actions but, steeling himself for what he considered to be the most important battle of his life, knocked on the door. 

Not waiting for a response, he opened the door and stepped inside. "James?" 

"Yes, my prince?" 

"I...I'm sorry for waking you but...well, I was hoping that we could talk." 

"I wasn't sleeping. Come in and we can talk, if you'd like." 

Blair closed the door behind him, plunging the room into total darkness. He was hit by the sudden realization that this must be how James had to sleep: when every whisper was like a shout and the smallest glimmer of light like a ray of sunshine, how difficult must it be to block it all out. 

His musing was disturbed by the sound of bed linens rustling then suddenly a blaze of light. Blair blinked, and when his eyes had a moment to adjust to the light, he was gifted with the vision of James sitting up in bed, the linens puddle around his waist, his upper body bare and glowing in the candlelight. Blair could only stare at the strong, sculptured chest, smooth as carved marble, and wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out and run his hands over the wealth of unblemished skin. 

"Give me a moment to dress, my prince..." James voice brought the young man back to the present as he saw the older man begin to rise. 

"No." Blair responded quickly, not wanting James to cover himself. "Do not disturb yourself. It is I who have interrupted your rest." 

"As you wish, Sire" James held out his hand in invitation. "Come, sit down by me." 

Blair hesitated but a moment before he moved over to the side of the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge. Now that he was here he wasn't quite sure exactly what to say. Looking up, he caught James' eyes, and saw the sadness and concern they held. Looking back down at his hands, he sighed. 

"I'm sorry, James." 

"Blair..." 

"No, James, let me finish. I accused you of some horrible things and I...I was wrong. I believed you and I thought you deceived me and I was hurt and angry and, well, I just did not understand." 

"And you think that you understand now?" 

"Some. I...I spoke with Symon and he told me of your father, how he basically hid you away because of your gifts, how you came to know of me and of all that you did to protect me. " 

"Symon should not have spoken to you..." 

"But I needed to know, James." Blair grasped the large hand that lay casually on the bed linen, taking it in both of his. "I needed to understand. I have been selfish, seeing only what this has done to me. I needed to know the sacrifices that you had made." 

"And now that you do?" 

"I feel a bit of the fool." Blair smiled nervously then dropped his gaze the their joined hands. "I owe you so much, more than I can ever repay..." 

"You owe me nothing." James insisted. 

But Blair looked back at James, determination in his face. "I owe you my very life. Without you I would surely be dead. And what of the people of Wyndmoor? They owe you their salvation." 

"We have not yet won that battle, my prince," James smiled slightly. 

"No, we have not. And there is a real possibility that we may not succeed. Knowing that, I cannot go into this battle without you knowing some truths." 

"What truths may that be?" 

Blair took the other man's hand and pulled it towards him, placing it against his chest, over his heart. "That I believe you and I believe in you. That I trust you with my life. That I trust you with my kingdom. And..." He paused a moment, his eyes locking on those other sapphire eyes. "I love you above all else. That I would give it all to you, my kingdom and my life, were you but to ask." 

James pulled his hand away, his eyes falling away from Blair's beautiful eyes. "I would not presume to ask." 

"Why? Because you are a common soldier and I am to be King?" When James' head snapped up Blair smiled, knowing he had hit the mark. "You see, I do understand. I know now how you see yourself and how you see me. All I am asking is that you try to see things from my point of view as I have tried to see them from yours." 

Blair waited, praying that James would listen. Symon was right; words were his best weapon. But it would all be for naught if James would not allow him to explain. He watched as James stared at him, and he knew the Sentinel was analyzing him as only he could. Heartbeat, respiration, scent, the very look in his eye; these were the only clues James' had to his sincerity. He had taught his Sentinel how to use these gifts, now he must allow them to be directed towards him. 

Finally, James sighed, his entire body relaxing, almost in defeat. "I will listen." 

Blair smiled and, moving further onto the bed, folded both his legs under him, getting comfortable. Reclaiming James' hand, Blair looked directly at the older man. "You see yourself as a man without station, disowned by his father, coming up from nothing; a common soldier. I totally disagree but that is not the point. The point is that is how you see yourself. Let me tell you how I see myself... 

"I have spent my life being raised by strangers. When I was old enough to understand, I was told that my mother died in childbirth and that I was the illegitimate son of some minor official. There was always enough money that I lived comfortably and I was never mistreated. I had everything I needed but I never felt truly 'loved'. I mean, I did not belong anywhere or to anyone. I grew up knowing that if I were going to make anything of my life, I would only have myself to depend on. 

"I found that I enjoyed two things, reading and riding. I would ride every day and I would read everything I could get my hand on. I had tutors who taught me basic letters and sums hoping, I assume, that one day I would be able to gain employment as a clerk. That was my lot in life, James. To be a simply clerk and maybe one day, if I was lucky, perhaps a tradesman." 

"That isn't true, Blair. You are one of the smartest people I know." 

"Smart or not, without the connections, with no acknowledged parentage, I could never hope to be anything more. But I understood and accepted this. I used my knowledge to tutor the village children and waited, knowing that, eventually, my benefactor, whoever he may be, would stop sending money and I would have to find a position. 

"Then, suddenly, my world turned upside down. I was kidnapped by strangers, thrown into prison, kidnapped again, restrained by that horrid mask and thrown into another cell, all with little or no explanation. I did not know what was happening or why. 

"When I was at my lowest point, when I thought all hope was lost, I found myself being rescued by the Captain of the Royal Guards. Who would have thought that the great Captain James D'Ellison would deem me worthy of rescue? But you not only rescued me, you protected me with your very life. To say that I was confused would be a gross understatement." 

"You did ask quite a few questions when you woke." James smiled at the younger man. 

Blair chuckled. "Surely I did. But the most important question remained unanswered. Why me? Why would someone as important as you care what happened to a nobody like me? Nothing made sense. Well...almost nothing. There was one thing I was sure of." 

"And what was that?" 

"That you were the most beautiful man I had ever seen and that I love you." As James was about to interrupt, Blair stopped him. "Wait, please. Let me finish. I may have led a rather insular life but, believe me, I was no monk. There were women...and men...with whom I had shared my favors. But never had I met anyone who immediately stole my heart as you did with one look. With one smile you owned my soul. From the moment that mask was removed and I saw your face, I knew that I loved you. These weeks of working so closely together have been like heaven to me. I hoped you felt the same. Yet even if you loved me as I did you, I knew it could never be more. Why? Because you were the great Captain of the Royal Guard and I was a nobody." 

"But, Blair, that isn't true..." 

"Is it not? You say I am a prince. You say I am to be King. But to me, I am at best a clerk. In a society that is so class conscience, I could never hope to be the equal to someone such as you." 

"But you are so much more than I am. I am the one who is not worthy." 

"And therein lies our problem, James. You feel that you are not worthy of me and I feel that I am not worthy of you. What we both need to understand is that titles are meaningless. It does not matter where society places us. If we love each other, James, we belong together." 

"Blair..." 

"Just tell me true, James. Do you love me?" 

James reached up to run his hand over Blair's hair, pushing a stray lock behind one ear. "More than my very life." 

"I love you the same. And, on the morrow, we set out on a mission that could cost us our very lives. You have helped to set into motion events that could save this kingdom...or destroy it. Do not ask me to face that danger without ever knowing the taste of your lips, the feel of you body. Do not ask me to face that alone?" 

"Never alone, Blair. I swear. I will be at your side always, protecting you." 

"But not at my side always, loving me." Blair fought to contain the tears that filled his eyes. "Do you not understand, James? If I cannot have you I do not want to be King." 

"Blair..." James reached his hand up, caressing his true love's face. "My beautiful Blair, you are King and I am but a soldier, sworn to protect you and this kingdom." 

"But what good is a kingdom if I cannot have you at my side." A tear slid down his cheek. "I would give it all up for you." 

James smiled, using his thumb to wipe away the next tear. "But will you take it all for me? Will you take the kingdom and make it something that I, and your father, would be proud of?" 

Blue eyes stared into blue until, reluctantly Blair nodded, his hand reaching out to touch James' face. "And can you, James, for just this one night, see me as I do, a common man? Not your prince, not your King, but simply the man who loves you. I want to give myself to you. Allow me that. Please." 

Still stroking his thumb across Blair's cheek, James sighed. "I am but a simple man, no more, no less. Yet you sit here and offer me my heart's desire and I fear I have not the strength to refuse it." 

"Then don't, James, don't. It is what I want. It is what you want. Do not deny either of us this moment." 

Blair leaned forward, gently taking the older man's face in his hands, and placed their lips together. Suddenly James was drinking in the feel, the taste, the scent of the man. Soft but definitely masculine, there was a taste of spice, a feel of earthy richness that set his heart to pounding. His body felt at once hot and cold, chills running up his spine, his breathing rapid. 

He could not believe that a simple kiss from this relative child could put him on the verge of losing all control. Breaking the kiss, James sat back, needing to gauge the other man's reaction. 

Blair opened his eyes to look at James, amazed by his own reaction. Soft and gentle, the kiss was surprisingly arousing. With a tantalizing smile, his eyes dancing with devilment, Blair leaned in, placing his lips once again on the other man's. Exploring, his tongue traced over the softness and, with a little pressure, gained entrance into the warm moistness of James' mouth. Suddenly wanting to drown in the sensations, Blair increased the pressure and was rewarded by a groan that he felt in the back of his throat. Suddenly Blair felt arms encircle him, pulling him into an embrace and then both men were battling, crushing lips together, sucking on tongues as if trying to draw the other closer. 

Suddenly Blair pushed at James, breaking the embrace. At James' confused expression, Blair smiled. 

"If I understand correctly, you are agreed?" James nodded, still confused. "In that case, I think this would be much easier if I were not fully clothed." 

With that, Blair stood up and, within moments, was completed naked, his clothes scattered about the floor. Suddenly shy, Blair stood for a moment, allowing James to simply look at him. 

And James was looking. Stunned by the actions of the past few moments, he was now rewarded by the sight of the younger man's desire. 

Blair's pale body was accentuated by the dark hair that lightly dusted his chest, narrowing as it moved down his torso to the thatch of curls that covered his groin. James felt his heart pound as his own body responded to the sight of the tantalizing length of flesh rising out of the curls. 

Holding out his hand, he called Blair to him. "Come, my love. Join me." 

With a smile, Blair climbed into the bed, allowing James to cover him with the sheet as he stretched his body out next to the older man. Then James rolled over, pressing him into the bed and Blair's arms went around the warm body above him. With their arms wrapped around each other, their hardened cocks trapped between them, James began to rain light kisses over Blair's face, over his eyes, down his nose, across his cheeks. James found his lips just as a groan escaped Blair's throat and James pulled him closer, probing and devouring. When he felt Blair's hips buck, James broke the kiss, wanting to prolong the experience. 

"I want to touch every part of you, taste every part of you..." 

Yes," Blair hissed. "Please, yes." 

Directing Blair to remain on his back, James stretched out, covering the smaller body with his own and began exploring every inch, first with his fingers, then his lips. James pressed Blair down into the mattress as he covered his face with kisses. As he kissed and bit his way down Blair's neck, the younger man moved his hands up and down his lover's back, exploring what he could. When he found his hands on James' hips he pulled their lower bodies closer, forcing their rising erections to come into contact. 

James growled deep in his throat in reaction and bit Blair at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Blair whimpered and tilted his head back to allow James greater access. Trailing his tongue along Blair's ear, he drew the earlobe into his mouth, suckling the flesh. 

A groan escaped Blair's lips. 

When James inserted his tongue into Blair's ear, flicking it in and out, Blair arched off the bedding, a moan of pleasure torn from his body. Feeling as if his cock was going to explode, Blair began to beg. 

"James...wait...stop..." 

The Captain halted at Blair's words, worried that he'd done something wrong. "Blair...?" 

Blair reached up to touch the face that looked down upon him, the forehead lined with worry. "Do not worry, my love," he said, smiling. "But if you keep doing that, this will be over much too soon." 

Smiling with relief, James' eyes began to dance. "Then we'd best move on, don't you agree?" 

Not waiting for an answer, James began to nip and tongue his way, with agonizing slowness, down Blair's body. Moving across his chest, James worked one nipple to pebbled hardness then moved on to the other. Using the very tip of his tongue, he traced the line of dark hair that bisected his lover's stomach, pointing the way to Blair's groin. 

But James avoided the straining erection that lay, twitching, against Blair's belly. Instead, he trailed his lips and tongue down the inside of Blair's thigh, pausing to nip behind the knee. Blair moaned, his body arching off the bed in immense pleasure, his hands crumpling the sheet in a body-tensing grip. 

Moving further down that leg then working his way up the other, James had his prince pleading, begging for release. Blair's breaths became ragged, his pleasure almost at its peak. 

Blair let out a shuddering sigh of contentment as hands massaged, lips and teeth kissed and nipped slowly, so slowly up his legs that Blair had to fight the urge to grab James by the hair and pull him up, up to his now aching cock. 

Finally, with Blair's resistance nearly at an end, James gently, softly placed his lips on the very tip of Blair's weeping shaft. 

A swirl of his lover's tongue brought a gasp from the younger man as he nearly abandoned himself again to the feelings coursing through him. Fighting desperately for some control, Blair gasped, "No...wait..." 

But James did not wait. While his one hand cupped and fondled Blair's balls, he slid his mouth and tongue along Blair's aching flesh, slowly, teasingly drawing strangled pleas from the other man. When he began to work Blair's cock in earnest, his fingers trailed along the skin behind Blair's sac, into his crevice, locating the puckered opening. 

As James moved his already moistened finger over the delicate entrance, Blair's body began to buck, his breath becoming ragged, and James knew his pleasure was almost at it's peak. He sucked with wild abandon and, without warning, inserted his finger into Blair's body, moving in and out, adding to the myriad of sensations. 

No longer possessing any control, Blair grabbed James' hair and, with a scream of pure pleasure, thrust into his mouth, pulsing his essence down his lover's throat. Spasm upon spasm convulsed through his body until he collapsed, trembling, unable to do more than whimper. 

James released the spent cock, placing a gentle kiss on the tip then moved up next to his lover, leaning over him and smiling. Brushing the damp hair from Blair's sweat soaked forehead, he gently caressed his lover's face, placing tender kisses on his eyelids, until, slowly, the young scholar regained to ability to speak. 

"I...I have never felt...anything like that." Blair gasped. Reaching up to cradled James' face in his hands, he pulled the soldier into a kiss so perfectly tender that James was afraid he would explode from sheer joy. 

Still holding James' face, Blair stared into his eyes, once again speechless. He had made love many times in his young life but never once had he had felt anything that incredible. 

"I want you, James," Blair whispered, running his hands down the strong arms that held him, over the sweating muscles of James' back. He could feel the other man's erection pressing against his leg and he knew what they both desired. "I want to feel you inside me, like the beating of my heart, moving, thrusting into me in long, smooth strokes, touching that place inside me that will send me spiraling out of control, filling me, until I'm ready to explode." 

Blair could see the hesitation in his lover's eye, mixed with love and desire. Not wanting to give James time to think of an excuse, a reason not to give in to his own needs, Blair took James' face in his hands, tracing the rosy lips with his thumbs. Gently placing his mouth where his thumbs had just been, he nibbled James' lips then, seeking entrance, sucked at James' questing tongue, stroking over moist flesh and solid teeth. A choked moan at the back of James' throat told Blair how close the other man was. 

Feeling his own flesh begin to swell, Blair ran his fingers over his lover's lips, soothing the flesh swollen by his passion. As the new lover's gazed at each other, the remnants of James' inner torment shattered, finally freeing him to love the younger man with all his being. 

Slowly sliding his tongue along the fingertips at his mouth, James gently sucked one in. As Blair chuckled, James smiled. Taking Blair's hand, he withdrew the finger and gently traced his tongue across the upturned palm, looking up at Blair's slight gasp. 

Leaning down to kiss Blair, first gently then with more ardor, James rubbed himself against the scholar as he gathering him tightly into his arms. The two men continued the passionate kiss, hands stroking, reveling in each other's touch. Breaking the kiss, James looked into the deep blue eyes of this magnificent man, seeking any uncertainty. What he found was a need matching his own. 

James retraced the movements of their previous lovemaking, running his tongue over a muscular chest, down the sculpted stomach. Reaching the partially erect penis, he ran his tongue up the sensitive underside of the shaft, smiling as the cock hardened at his touch. 

Moving to place himself between Blair's thighs, he pushed the younger man's legs up to his chest, giving him better access to the point of his desire. Running his tongue over Blair's scrotum, he gently sucked on one testicle, then the other. By the time James' tongue reached Blair's anus, his prince was already squirming, his cock hard and beginning to leak fluid. 

As he ran his tongue over the opening, Blair began to pant. A moan of "Oh, God..." escaped Blair's lips. 

James looked up at Blair, to find his skin flushed with arousal and his eyes squeezed shut. He knew Blair was as ready as he was, that to continue like this would become torment. Slowly, he ran his fingers over the younger man's weeping erection, coating them with the escaping liquid. 

"James," Blair begged, unable to say more than his lover's name. 

With a smile, James pushed his slick finger into Blair's tight opening. Blair's entire body tensed, then slowly relaxed around the intruder. Leaning down, James murmured words of encouragement as he nuzzled his lover's neck, all the while moving his finger in and out of the responsive body. Trailing kisses across the lightly furred chest, he added a second finger, moving both gently until the younger man was stretched. Working his way down to Blair's groin, he nuzzled the nest of dark curls before he moved himself again between his lover's thighs. Sensing that the time was right, he withdrew his fingers, and positioned his own weeping erection at the Blair's entrance. Then slowly, he began to push inside. 

Blair tensed a bit at the incredible feeling but, after a moment, he relaxed, allowing his lover to continue. James took a deep breath, trying to keep himself under control. This felt better than he had imagined, being sheathed in this exquisite being. He pressed forward, slowly but steadily. When he found himself completely enveloped in the tight, hot body, he stilled, trying to give his partner time to become accustomed to the sensation. 

Blair reached up to place his hand flat on his lover's chest, needing to ground himself in the sculptured strength. 

"You are so beautiful," Blair whispered as tears ran from the corners of his eyes. 

With a smile that told Blair he was being silly, James began to move. Pulling out as slowly as he entered, he stopped when only the head of his cock remained inside. Then he pushed slowly inside again. 

But the pace was enough to make Blair scream. In desperation, he flexed his hips and, wrapping his legs around James, forced his lover even deeper. 

James could hold back no longer. His dreams, his every fantasy, paled in comparison to this very real passion. Thrusting more quickly into the younger man, almost lost in the sensations, a dim part of his rational mind was aware that Blair was meeting his every thrust. Knowing that he would not last much longer, he wrapped his hand around Blair's bobbing shaft, stroking it in time with their movements. 

Then, suddenly, the first waves of orgasm began shuddering through James. Tightening his grip around his lover's cock, he pumped harder, bringing Blair again to a screaming release. 

James' climax followed swiftly, seeming to go on forever in wave upon crashing wave. At last, his passion spent, he collapsed atop Blair's broad chest, the two men panting raggedly. 

When he finally gained enough strength to move, James raised his head to look at Blair. A serene beauty seemed to radiate from the smiling face as, with his eyes still closed, Blair tried to recover. James could not help himself from smiling in return. 

Separating from the young scholar, James moved to lie next to him, running fingers through the hair covering his chest. Normally not one to savor the moment, James nevertheless wanted, no...needed to maintain contact with this man who had somehow captured a piece of his soul. 

With no words spoken, Blair covered the hand on his chest with his own then, rolling to his side, pulled his lover to him, spooning their bodies together. With James' arms now encircling him, Blair sighed and fell into a peaceful sleep. 

* * *

Chapter Twenty 

The day of the celebration dawned with brilliant sunshine, warm breezes and the promise of success. 

Dozens of cooks prepared food for the hundred of guests, wines from various nations were being uncorked, floors were being waxed, silver and gold was being polished, and florists were coming and going with deliveries. The discordant sounds of musical instruments being tuned could be heard throughout the estate. 

In the apartment assigned to Captain Ellison, Blair sat a table in front of a small mirror gazing at his reflection. As part of the disguise used for his protection, Blair had sported a three-day growth of beard. Now, thankfully, James was carefully scraping the whiskers from his face. 

"Perhaps you entered the Chateau a servant but you will leave it a King." 

"Ow..." Blair shrieked as the straight razor nicked his chin. "If I live to leave. Watch what you're doing, will you." 

"A thousand pardons." James apologized with a slight bow. "One more stroke, I beg of you." Checking out Blair's reflection, James smiled as his friend tried to look angry but the laughter dancing in the blue orbs gave him away. At a nod from Blair, D'Ellison marked the last pass with the blade. "There. Now, what do you think of that?" 

Blair wiped the lather from his face and checked the image in the mirror. A new pencil-thin mustache adorned his upper lip and, although it was a change, he didn't see much difference. 

"I still see Blair," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. 

"One moment, please. One moment." D'Ellison turned to the stand behind him that held a wig identical to the one King Ryen always wore. "The main feature." he said with a flourish, positioning the tumble of long, chestnut brown finger-curls on Blair's head. "Now...what do you see?" 

Blair laughed at his reflection. "Now I see an ass!" 

* * *

In the office of the First Minister a few floors away, Symon stood before Kyncade's desk while Kyncade admired a large portrait of the King, being held by two servants. Braquet, standing by the window, watched the exchange. 

"Magnificent!" Kyncade stood and moved from behind his desk. "His Majesty will be eternally in your debt, Sire Symon. I must congratulate you and also the artist." 

"Ah, but it was never my intention to outshine my host." Symon assured Kyncade. "The portrait is yours to present to the King." 

Kyncade stared at Symon in surprise. "You are most generous, Sir." 

"A token in appreciation of your kind hospitality." Symon nodded his head in deference to the First Minister. 

Kyncade moved closer to the portrait, studying the artistry. This would definitely put him in good stead with his sovereign. "I will present it to the King this evening...at the ball." 

The arrival of a clerk interrupted the men and, as Kyncade walked over and took the note he carried, Braquet stepped forward, directing the servants. 

"Conceal it until later." At Symon's look of surprise, Braquet added, "Lest the King should happen upon it and the surprise be spoiled." 

"Yes." Kyncade agreed. "Hang it in the apartments of Milady Conner. She defends her privacy as zealously as she does her virtue." 

"Meanwhile," Symon said as he stepped towards the door. "I will take my leave." 

"Once again, Sir, a thousand thanks for you generosity." 

With a silent bow to Kyncade, Symon departed. Braquet, walking over to Kyncade, watched as Symon passed through the outer room. 

"What poet of antiquity first warned us to beware of Greeks bearing gifts?" 

"Watch him." Kyncade ordered. 

* * *

With a makeup tin in his hand, James studied his Prince, who still sat, adorned in the King's wig. 

"A little almond paste to whiten the skin, a touch of rouge to cheeks and lips, a bottle or two of sweet perfumes and the transformation will be complete." 

A knock at the door interrupted the younger man's retort and sent him rushing into an adjoining room, pulling the wig from his head. Seeing that Blair was safely hidden, D'Ellison opened the door and, recognizing the visitors, signaled the all clear. 

"Blair." he called, waving him back into the room. 

As Blair reentered he, too, recognized the visitors as Symon and Raphe. The tailor's apprentice nodded a greeting to Blair as he set a covered costume form by the window. Symon walked over to the form and, with his eyes on Blair, pulled off the cover to reveal the costume, an exact replica to the one the King would be wearing that evening. Exact, with the exception of the sash, which, on this costume, was white. 

"So this is the famous costume." Blair said as he inspected the gold brocade coat. 

"An exact replica of the one His Majesty will be wearing." Raphe smiled. 

"How will you tell us apart?" 

"No worry," Symon assured him. "I've taken the liberty to have a subtle distinction incorporated into the design." 

"Only the four of us will be aware of the difference." James added 

"And Sire Kyncade, of course." 

Blair's head snapped up at Symon's words, a look of horror on his face. "Kyncade?" 

"Don't be alarmed." Symon chuckled. "Everything has its purpose." Taking Raphe by the arm, Symon led the young man to the door. "Now, come along, my boy. Sire Kyncade is waiting for you to dress him. Remember, just as we rehearsed. One false step and..." Symon made a slashing motion across his throat. 

"Yes, Sir." Raphe said nervously, sketching a small bow as he left. 

As the door closed Symon returned to Blair and the costume and, with a laugh, placed the hat atop Blair's head. 

"Now," he stated with a smile "let us duplicate a King." 

* * *

Chapter Twenty-one 

Kyncade stood before a full-length mirror, adjusting his collar, as Raphe, helping him dress, brushed lightly at one long silk sleeve. 

"Leblanc's painting is excellent. Why do you quibble with it?" 

"I gather no one has noticed the flaw, Minister." Raphe helped Kyncade into his long vest. 

"Flaw?" Kyncade adjusted the heavy material on his shoulders, his eyes still locked on his reflection. 

"Nothing serious, of course." Raphe assured him, adjusting the lace on the front of Kyncade's blouse. "Simply an oversight." 

"Really? What manner of oversight?" 

" Minister must promise not to say a word to my master. Master Collette would never forgive me." Raphe fastened the vest in the front as Kyncade readjusted his lace. 

"I intended to present His Majesty with the painting tonight. Is there something you feel that I should know?" Kyncade turned to another mirror as Raphe carried over the coat. 

"Simply that in making up the duplicate costume, there was a revision." Raphe held the coat as Kyncade slipped it on. 

"Duplicate costume?" Kyncade turned on Raphe as he smoothed the back of the coat. "What duplicate costume?" 

"Why, the one Leblanc used as a model for his painting." Raphe adjusted the jacket on Kyncade's shoulders, tugging at the sleeve, trying to appear unconcerned with the information he was imparting. In reality, his heart was pounding in his chest and he couldn't understand why Kyncade didn't notice him sweating. Still, knowing that the entire endeavor rested on how well he played his part, Raphe continued, reaching to adjust the coat's collar. "You see... it has a purple sash." 

"And?" The Minister extended his arms as Raphe picked up Kyncade's baldric and gently slipped it on. 

"Well, that is what the King is wearing in the portrait. A purple sash." 

"Careful. Careful." he said as Raphe eased the leather strap over Kyncade's head. "I fail to see the significance." 

Raphe laid the leather across Kyncade's shoulder, smoothing it across the back. "But the King will be wearing a white sash tonight. Don't you see?" 

"White?" 

"Exactly." Raphe picked up a brush from a nearby table and began putting the finishing touches on Kyncade's outfit. "My master changed his design at the last minute. Naturally it was too late to change the portrait. I can only pray His Majesty will not detect the oversight." Raphe brushed at one last piece of non-existent lint. The trap set, he waited for Kyncade's reaction. 

"What has become of this duplicate costume?" Kyncade asked slowly, realizing the implications of this duplicate costume and trying to mask his desperation. 

"I believe Sire Symon still has it." Raphe answered innocently. 

Thinking he now held his enemy's life in his grasp, Kyncade left the room. Watching him go, Raphe, unused to participating in such intrigue, collapsed with a sigh of relief. 

* * *

The King, standing before a full wall mirror, surrounded by Master Collette and his dressers, placed the hat on his head and surveyed his reflection. His gold brocade costume, complete with purple sash, appeared to glitter in the reflected light. Without a word he moved over to another giant wall mirror, checking the image from a different angle. 

"Exquisite!" 

Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief as the King turned again, still admiring his image. 

"Yes, exquisite." Collette agreed as he adjusted the King's lace. "I'm sure the Queen Caroline will find Your Majesty quite irresistible." 

"The Queen Caroline?" The King pretended a look of horror. "What an appalling prospect. It is Lady Conner whose praise we crave." Adjusting his curls to drape precisely on his shoulder, the King smiled. "Hurry. We shall surprise her with a private showing before the ball." 

* * *

Chapter Twenty-two 

In the hallway leading from the King's apartments a hidden door slowly opened as first D'Ellison then Blair peeked through. Seeing the hallway deserted, D'Ellison motioned to Blair. 

"We go." 

Blair closed the door behind them then the two men moved quietly down the hallway. Dressed in the second costume and wig, Blair looked identical to the King. With D'Ellison, as the King's guard, at his side, no one would even think to stop them. Unless the person they ran into was the King. 

As he passed an open door, Blair glanced in to see Megan being attended by her servant. 

"James!" Blair's harsh whisper stopped James, who was a few feet further down the hall. "She is here." 

Quietly, D'Ellison returned to Blair's side and looked into the room, seeing the two women. 

"But she is not alone." 

"If I can't fool her maid, I'll never fool the whole court." 

James studied the smaller man. Although his eyes saw the King, his heart still saw Blair. Because of that, he knew he was not the proper judge of the masquerade. "Your point is well taken." James admitted. 

"I must see..." 

"Alright, alright." James agreed. "But hurry. Kyncade will be in the King's apartments at any moment now. He must find you there, not Ryen." 

D'Ellison moved to guard the hallway, allowing Blair a moment for his little 'test' 

* * *

Megan and Alyce, her servant, stood looking at the portrait that now resided in her room. 

"It is indeed a tribute to Sire Leblanc's art that he is able to improve upon perfection." Megan laughed. "But then, that it does not speak is the ultimate improvement." 

As the two women shared the jest, they turned only to find Blair standing in the doorway. Thinking him to be the King, they immediately dropped into a curtsey, heads bowed. 

"Your Majesty." 

"A thousand pardons, my dear." Blair stepped into the room. "I merely came to return...this." 

Megan raised her head to see him holding her handkerchief, the one she gave Blair in the garden. Recognizing it, and realizing that it was Blair that stood before her, Megan dismissed her servant. 

"Alyce, please leave us," she said quietly as she rose. 

With a short bow, Alyce swiftly left the room, closing the door behind her. Finally alone, Blair crossed to Megan and pulled her into an embrace. 

"What miracle is this?" she murmured as her arms wrapped around him. "I thought you were the King." 

"Soon, God willing." 

Megan pulled back, allowing her eyes to study the man before her. The disguise was perfect. No one would ever know. And yet... 

"It was foolish to come here." she whispered. 

"This may be my last chance to see you." Blair touched her face as Megan shook her head in denial. "Hear me out. If tonight's adventure goes awry, promise me that you will disavow our friendship." 

"I would rather cut my the heart from my breast. Were it not for you, Raphe and I..." 

Blair silenced her with a finger to her lips. "You have been my one true friend, Megan. Of all of them, only you have never lied to me, never used me. So now, for your own safety, it is vital that you never knew me." 

"I don't know that I could do it." 

"There is more." Blair took hold of Megan's chin, staring into her tear-filled eyes. "If I am King before this night is through, I must rule with Ryen's name, not my own. With Queen Caroline as my wife. I could never openly acknowledge our friendship. That would not be Ryen's way. And I will not have you thought to be my mistress. I couldn't do that to you or Raphe." 

"And if you do not succeed?" Seeing the answer on her friend's face, her tears began to fall. "Blair, hold me. I am so afraid." 

They embraced each other, both hoping it would not be for the last time. Suddenly, behind Blair, Megan saw the secret door to the King's apartment open, the King himself stepping unannounced into her room. 

"Your Majesty." 

* * *

The King entered Megan's apartment, preparing to reveal his costume to her, only to find her in the embrace of someone who looked remarkable like himself. Stunned, he watched as, at Megan's gasped words, the other man moved to hide behind the nearby dressing screen. 

Angered now beyond his ability to speak, the King walked over to the ornate screen and pushed it aside. Standing before him, dressed in a costume identical to his own, stood a man, holding a masquerade mask to his face. 

"What sort of prank is this? Who dares impersonate the King?" His face broke into an uneasy smile, his fragile mind seeking an explanation. "But of course, a hoax. A jest prepared by our clever host." 

He laughed nervously, not taking his eyes off of the mysterious man standing before him. "Our apologies, dear Megan. For a moment we were sincerely duped." 

Ryen continued to stare at the man, trying to see through the masquerade. For some unknown reason he felt drawn to this stranger. 

"Yet this imposter is more than mere charade," he murmured to himself. Almost against his will, the King reached out, needing to see the face behind the mask. 

"So perfect." he whispered. "So convincing." Suddenly, he grabbed the mask, pulling it away only to find himself looking into his own face. 

"You!" he gasped, stepping back. 

* * *

Chapter Twenty-three 

Ryen backed away, terrified. 

"Will you not embrace me, brother?" Blair asked, stepping towards the King, his arms outstretched. 

In a panic the King ran about the room, stopping first at one mirror, then another, looking at his reflection, as if to assure himself that he was, indeed, Ryen. 

Finally, staring wide-eyed at the aberration before him, he cried out. "Guards! Help me! Help me!" 

The door to the room flew open and Captain D'Ellison ran in, sword drawn. Even without the different sashes he knew which man was Blair. In a ballroom filled with people he would be able to pick out the beloved heartbeat. Smiling inwardly, he steeled his eyes and strode purposely forward, pointing his drawn weapon at Ryen. 

"Not me, you fool." the King yelled. "There is the imposter!" He pointed wildly, indicating Blair. 

As D'Ellison turned, playing at being uncertain, Kyncade entered, followed by Braquet. Finally D'Ellison came to stand before the man he knew to be Blair, sword pointed at the younger man's throat, a slight smile on his lips. 

"What goes here?" Kyncade demanded, noting the two identical men. 

Blair spoke for the first time, playing his part. "Treason and conspiracy. He dares to impersonate the King." Blair waved Kyncade over to Ryen, who still stood in front of the mirror. Kyncade moved over to inspect this 'other King'. 

"Do not listen to this treachery, Kyncade. There is the usurper!" Ryen screamed, "Take him!" 

Still holding his sword on Blair, James yelled to Kyncade. "Here is your man." 

"Fool!" Blair hissed. "Are you blind?" 

Seeing Kyncade's hesitation, Ryen shouted, "D'Ellison speaks of the truth." 

Kyncade looked over the man next to him then moved slowly to the man held at D'Ellison's sword point. Then, without a word, he walked over to the portrait, standing forgotten between the two 'Kings'. Seeing the purple sash in the portrait, he remembered the words of the apprentice tailor. 

"Braquet..." he smiled as he turned and pointed at Ryen. "Arrest him." 

Stunned, Ryen stared at his First Minister. "What do you say? This is madness!" 

"Arrest him!" Kyncade yelled 

"But surely, you must be mistaken." D'Ellison argued. "Here is your man." 

Following Kyncade's order and ignoring the Captain of the Royal Guard, Braquet moved to the man he believed to be the imposter, drawing his dagger. A second guard moved in behind to take the prisoner. 

"I am Ryen!" The King insisted as the guard grabbed his arms. "I am Ryen! I am your sovereign!" 

"Silence him!" Kyncade demanded. 

"I am..." The guard wrapped his arm around Ryen's throat, cutting off his words. 

Pretending to realize his mistake, D'Ellison bowed to Blair. "Forgive me, Sire, for having been so blind." 

Assured in his knowledge that he had foiled the conspiracy, Kyncade moved to stand next to Blair, a smug smile on his face. 

"Your Majesty? What is your desire?" 

Blair looked at the man across the room, the brother he never really knew, the man who had arbitrarily sentenced him to a life in hell. A part of him wanted to reach out to his twin, to offer comfort and solace. Yet he knew what he had to do, not only for himself but for the people. 

"Has the King not already once decreed his brother's fate?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow. Letting his gaze sweep past Megan, he locked eyes with his brother and saw the terror in those eyes as the realization set in. With sadness in his heart, Blair looked back to Kyncade. "So, let it stand." 

Kyncade nodded, sealing Ryen's fate. "Let is stand." 

Taking a step closer to Blair, Kyncade spoke softly. "Sire, I know of the plot that was perpetrated against you and I promise there shall be retribution." 

"Indeed." Blair agreed 

"Yes." Kyncade insisted as he bowed to his King 

Just then, sounds of music could be heard floating down the hallway from the Grand Ballroom. 

"Ah." Blair said, smiling. "The ball." He turned to leave the room then stopped at the door. "We shall proceed as if none of this has happened. As for you, Captain..." 

"Your Majesty?" 

"We would feel more secure with you at hand. Do not leave our side tonight." 

D'Ellison bowed, allowing the pride he felt for Blair to color his voice. "I am you servant, Sire." 

With a nod to the man who held his heart, Blair turned to Megan, took her hand and brought it to his lips. "My dear, until later." 

A light kiss to her fingers and Blair released her hand then turned and, with James following, left the room. Kyncade turned to address Braquet. 

"Return him to the Isle St. Sebastian, as ordered by the King." 

With a nod to the guard who still held the struggling Ryen, Braquet led the former King from the room. 

* * *

Chapter Twenty-four 

The ballroom, with its velvet-covered walls of white and gold, was alight with the glitter of hundreds of candles. Five massive gold and crystal chandeliers, each at least eight feet across, hung from the mirrored ceiling, their light reflected off the gold-veined marble floor. 

Ladies and gentlemen, dressed in their best finery, milled about the room, strains of stringed music an undercurrent to the conversations. Off to the side, on a dais three steps above the floor, Queen Caroline sat upon her throne; its twin empty beside her, the Lady Naomi seated quietly at her other hand. 

Suddenly, the sound of a metal-tipped staff striking the marble floor drew everyone's attention to the Royal Crier standing by the door. 

"His sublime Majesty, Grand Monarch of Wyndmoor, Ryen the sixth!" 

The twelve-foot double doors opened to reveal Blair, in his guise as King Ryen. Pausing for a moment, he entered the ballroom as all bowed in his presence. He made his way across the room, through the parted crowd, to his throne, his Queen Caroline and his Mother. Before he could reach the dais, he was intercepted by Kyncade. 

"Your Majesty." Kyncade greeted his sovereign with a bow 

Blair gave a slight nod, acknowledging the man who had plotted his destruction. "Sire Kyncade." 

"Please accept this occasion as token of my deep devotion. To continue in your service need be my only reward." 

Blair's studied Kyncade, who wore a smug look of superiority. This man had plotted his destruction, had planned, in his own way, to steal the throne. Now Blair had but to surmount one last obstacle and the man before him would be destroyed. Solemnly, he removed his hat and bowed to Kyncade. Taken aback by the King's unusual response, Kyncade nervously returned the bow and backed away. 

Blair stepped onto the dais and came face to face, for the first time, with his Mother and his emotions threatened to overtake him. Had she been aware of Sire William's deceit? Had she willingly discarded one son for the other? Or had she, too, been the victim of a power hungry man? 

In that moment, he decided it didn't matter. This was the woman who had given him life and, for that reason alone, he owed her the opportunity to prove herself. Yet, as their eyes met, Blair felt his heart swell, felt a link between them, felt the love of a mother for her son. 

"Mother." Blair whispered, fighting to maintain his composure. 

"Your Majesty." As she rose to greet her King, Blair took her hand and kissed it reverently. "My son?" She looked at him hard, confusion edging her voice. 

"I have never seen...I have never seen you looking more beautiful." 

"My Ryen?" she questioned, sensing some change in her son. 

With a tilt of his head and a small smile, Blair released her hand and turned to the Queen Caroline, offering his hand. Without a word, they stepped down onto the dance floor to perform the ritual first dance. As the music and movements began, the Queen Caroline spoke softly. 

"You're not yourself this evening, my husband." 

"I am as constant as the sun." This was his final obstacle. If he could not fool the Queen, if she were to suspect, she would give him away and all would be lost. 

They continue through the movements of the dance, Blair concentrating on the newly learned steps, hoping to mimic Ryen's renowned grace. 

"Your dancing is most directed." Caroline observed, still speaking in a voice that could not be heard by the observing crowd. 

"You dance as always, my dear." 

"If my eyes did not tell me otherwise, I would think the man with whom I am dancing is not my husband." 

Thrown off by her words, Blair accidentally stepped on the Queen foot. 

"A thousand pardons, my dear," he begged with a tight smile. They continued the dance, working the intricate steps, for a few moments before Blair picked up the dangerous, maybe fatal, conversation. "If not your husband, who might he be?" 

"An imposter." 

"Were that the case, Madame, surely you would be alarmed." 

They continued dancing, the import of this moment lost on their viewing subjects. 

"I am rarely taken by surprise. And," Caroline smiled over her shoulder "unlike you mother, I can afford the best of informants." 

"It follows, then, that you would be ready for this...usurper." 

"Most likely." 

"Ready to expose him?" 

"I would have little to gain. Except, perhaps, your return to my bedchamber." Caroline chuckled. "Little gain." 

"Better your own husband, Madame, than some total stranger." 

"Quite the contrary." 

"Am I to understand that you would not betray this phantom imposter?" 

The Queen's only response was a sly smile. Emboldened by her look, Blair made a proposal. "Let us say this usurper could guarantee that you would be no less the Queen than you are now." 

"I would have to be sure that my children were secure. And that they might maintain their right to the succession of the throne." 

"Would you take the word of such a man?" 

"If he did not keep his word, he would lose his head." 

"As you would have to hold your tongue or lose yours." 

"Just so." Caroline agreed. 

The movements of the dance had brought them back to within earshot of the dais. Knowing that he had conquered the last obstacle, that the Queen was, if not an ally, at least a willing conspirator, Blair raised his voice slightly and chuckled. "But this is...this is absurdity. I intend to enjoy a long and fruitful reign." 

They finished the last of the dance and Caroline stepped back, curtseying to Blair. "And so you shall, Sire. With my blessing." 

Blair removed his hat and bowed to the Queen. 

"If you would excuse me," Caroline said, not wishing to witness the rest of the evening's events. "I should wish to retire. I do not desire to spoil Your Majesty's pleasure." 

Knowing that he had reached an agreement with the one person who could expose him, Blair took her hand, gently kissing her fingers. 

"Good night then, Madame. God be with you." 

"God be with you...Ryen." 

As the Queen Caroline departed through the parting crowd, Blair scanned the room for a friendly face. Spying Megan, he walked over to her and, taking her hand, led her onto the dance floor, signaling the formal beginning of the evening. Other couples followed as the music began. 

* * *

As the dancers moved around the floor, James breathed a sigh of relief. He alone had been privy to the conversation between Blair and the Queen and knew their mission was almost complete. 

Standing next to Symon, James scanned the perimeter of the hall. Spying Raphe standing just outside the double doors, he nudged Symon and, with a nod, quietly left the ballroom. 

Symon sought out Kyncade, walking over to stand beside the First Minister. 

"Congratulations, Sir. Your ball seems a great success." 

"More than you imagine, I'll wager." A smug grin creased Kyncade's face. 

"Less than you imagine, I'll wager." Symon grinned back. Annoyed, Kyncade walked away but Symon followed closely. 

"Symon... one of your problems has always been that you tend to take your bows before the final curtain falls." 

"Your problem, Kyncade, is that you never realize when the play is over. You see, tomorrow, when His Majesty has departed for Dresher, you will be arrested on the charge of misappropriation of State funds. Sire Braquet shall be taken into custody as an accessory." 

Kyncade laughed. "My dear Symon. I hate to inform you that your plot to depose the king and replace him with his brother Blair has been foiled. That is Ryen the sixth." 

Both men turned to watch Blair dancing with Megan. 

"On that point, at least, we can agree." 

"In which case," Kyncade turned his arrogant gaze on Symon "you will be the one to be arrested tomorrow morning on charges of conspiracy and treason." 

Symon smiled and shook his head. "Poor Kyncade. Look at them again. What has become of Conner's revulsion for the King? Or could he suddenly have changed overnight?" 

Kyncade looked at the two young people, seeing a calm and confident King. Then he saw that Megan's eyes were filled with joy, not the hatred he had always seen in the past. 

"Oh, come now." Kyncade whispered, suddenly unsure yet still unconvinced. "She wouldn't be the first reluctant maid that he has won over." 

"My, my, we do need convincing, don't we? Perhaps you might be reminded of a certain apprentice tailor...in my employ?" 

Symon nodded to indicate the far doorway. Kyncade followed his gaze to see D'Ellison and Raphe standing together. D'Ellison moved his hand diagonally across Raphe chest, as if fingering an imaginary sash. 

Realization slowly dawned on Kyncade. "The sash." he whispered, knowing now that he had been duped. 

"All that trouble, all that superiority and you never noticed." 

Panicked, Kyncade frantically searched the room for his man. "Braquet?" 

"Too late." Symon whispered. "They've already left for St. Sebastian. On your orders." 

Kyncade blanched, his face turning a sickly white. It had been his words that had sealed his sovereign's fate, his actions that had imprisoned his King. Regardless of the outcome, Kyncade knew his life was now forfeit. 

"The King! " he gasped, not realizing that he had cried the words aloud. 

"The King, Kyncade, is dead." Symon whispered then, turning to the ballroom, he shouted. "Long Live the King." 

The other courtiers took up the cry, raising glasses to toast Blair, until 'Long Live the King' echoed through the ballroom. 

* * *

Chapter Twenty-five 

In the cell last occupied by his brother, Ryen leaned heavily on the bed, still wearing his royal costume, the Iron Mask secured firmly in place. He could hear Sire Braquet outside the cell, talking to the jailer. If he could just convince these men of their error, if he could just remove this mask.... 

Standing straight, he ran his hands over the accursed mask. 

"I am Ryen!" he cried out. "I am the King!!!" 

Finally realizing that he was destined to suffer the fate that he'd ordered for his own brother, Ryen crumbled to the floor, his fragile mind slipping into madness. 

"I am Ryen." he murmured. "I am the King." 

* * *

Outside the locked door of the cell Braquet stood, peering through the small barred window at the man he thought to be Blair. Shaking his head at the ramblings, he turned to instruct the jailer, not realizing that his own future was forfeit. 

"Listen well, Jailer," he spoke, leaning close to the man. "These are His Majesty's orders. Therefore they must be obeyed without question." At the jailer's nod, Braquet continued. "The prisoner is quite mad. He believes himself to be the King." 

The screamed declarations coming from the cell had already convinced the jailer of Sire Braquet's statement. 

"He is, therefore," Braquet continued, "most dangerous and must never leave this cell. No one is to visit him, save you. No one is to speak to him, including you." 

Braquet stepped back, standing tall and confident, his voice now loud and hard. "And when, one day, his food remains uneaten and his water bowl has dried, you will provide mortar and bricks and seal the entry to this cell. Then you shall send word to the palace in Dresher that the man in the Iron Mask lives no more." 

* * *

Epilogue 

Standing by the open window of his apartments in the Dresher palace, Blair looked out at the fountains and lawn that fronted the Royal Garden, the bright sun touching his face, the breeze gently moving his unbound hair. But his mind was still occupied by the events of the past week. 

"Kyncade?" 

James, standing at a table covered with documents, looked up at his King. He knew Blair was still wrestling with his conscience, still trying to reconcile his heart, heavy with the actions they had taken, with his head, which knew the actions had been necessary. 

"Confined to a cell in The Fortress." James answered, gathering the scrolls and parchments together. "His lands and fortune confiscated by the crown." 

"What of his family?" 

"There was none, my Prince. His life was devoted to the accumulation of money and power." 

"And now he has neither." Blair whispered, knowing James would still hear his words. "And Braquet?" 

James walked over to stand beside the young man who held his heart. In the days since his Name Day celebration, Blair had made every decision, had overseen every action taken. Yet, on a daily basis he questioned James, as if looking for a flaw. 

"As you know, Braquet was arrested upon his return to the mainland. He resisted, pulled his sword on Henri and was killed in the ensuing battle." 

Blair nodded and sighed. The two men stood silently for a moment before Blair asked "Megan?" 

"Already preparing for her wedding to Raphe. Both are currently at Symon's estate at Ambler, properly chaperoned by Taggert, of course." 

"Good." Blair murmured, a small smile touching his lips. "And Megan's father?" 

"Released from The Fortress the day after the celebration. He is also staying at Symon's estate." 

"I want him fully compensated for his imprisonment. A proper place to live out his days and enough money to do as he wishes." 

"Already done, My King. After the wedding, he will move to your former estate in Dryden. He has decided to take up gardening and leave tailoring to his new son." 

"I want the wedding to be held here, at the palace. I want it to be the biggest, most lavish event the kingdom has ever seen." 

"And if that's not what Megan wants?" 

Blair turned to face James, his eyes bright with tears. "I just want everyone to be happy. I want everything to be right!" 

Placing his hands on the smaller man's shoulder he looked him in the eyes, his voice gentle but firm. "Everything is right, Blair. With the wealth from Kyncade's estates, Symon, as your new First Minister, has been able to establish the schools you wanted. Now, every child in Wyndmoor is guaranteed an education. The scholarships you funded will allow any man the opportunity to learn a trade or go on to the University. The Queen has opened the storehouses to the poor and has sent her physicians to care for the sick. It has been only a week and already the entire kingdom has improved. You have but to take a step outside the palace to feel the people's joy. Why can you not be as happy?" 

Breaking the hold James had on him, Blair walked away from the window to stand by the table, his body rigid with tension. When he turned again to face James, the Captain could see the pain and desperation on his lover's face. 

"I stole my brothers crown, I stole his wife and children! I have taken everything from him and driven him mad! How can you ask me to be happy?" 

In two strides James was beside Blair, taking the overwrought man in his arms. 

"Oh, Blair.... my sweet, gentle man. How can I convince you that what we did was right?" James held Blair tight against him, his one hand buried in the mass of dark curls, the other rubbing soothing circles on the stiff back. 

"The crown was never Ryen's to hold. It was yours by birthright. You merely took back what was taken from you. As for his wife and children...Blair, look at me." 

He waited until the younger man's face turned up to him, the moist, red-rimmed eyes locked on his. 

"Ryen was never a father to those children. His daughter was an inconvenience to him, his son simply a guarantee to the succession. You have spent more time with them, showed them more love in this past week than Ryen did their entire lives. And Caroline? She is happier now than I have ever seen her. Theirs was a marriage of state, never of love. Because of you she now has the power to do the things she has always wanted to do, and she doesn't have to worry about you wanting to find payment for it in her bed. Everyone in the kingdom is better off and happier now that you are king." 

"But Ryen..." 

"Ryen was always insecure; even as a child he was cruel. He was coddled by a mother and father who let their love blind them to the man he was becoming. As he grew older and claimed the throne, his insecurities increased. And, along with that, his cruelty. You know of the atrocities he committed, or had committed in his name. How can you doubt that removing him was the best for the kingdom?" 

"I know you're right." Blair whispered, lowering his eyes. "But no one deserves his fate." 

"I agree. No one deserves to go mad. Believe me, I know. But that was not something you could have prevented. What you did was prevent him from taking his madness out on innocent people." 

They stood together, still wrapped in each other's arms, for countless moments as Blair thought over James' words. Finally, as the words finally sunk in, Blair revealed his final secret. "I've done something else." 

"And what is that?" 

"I summoned Stephen to court. I've sent Henri and a few others to escort him home." He felt the arms around him tighten slightly. "He's your brother, James. It isn't his fault that your father kept him from you. You both deserve the chance to rebuild your relationship." 

He felt James' body begin to tremble and was surprised to realize that the Captain was laughing. Stepping out of the embrace, he looked up at his lover. "What?" 

"You summoned him?" Blair nodded. "He probable thinks he's been called to his execution." 

"But...no...that's isn't what I meant." Blair lowered his head in defeat. "Oh, dear..." 

But James gently grabbed his chin, raising his head to look into his eyes. "What did you mean to do with him?" 

"From what I understand, he's become an accomplished businessman. I though he could be of assistance to Symon. Or, perhaps, he could be a personal counselor." 

"Blair, you cannot automatically trust him because he's my brother." 

"No. But, because he's your brother, he deserves the opportunity to prove himself. And you deserve the chance to have him back in you life." 

James pulled his lover back into his arms, deeply touched at the gesture, knowing from Blair's rapid heartbeat and breath that the younger man had been unsure of James' reaction to the news. The Captain listened as the younger man's breath evened out, his heartbeat calmed. So wrapped up in listening to the beloved heartbeat, James was startled when Blair spoke again. 

"And what of you, James? You wish me to be happy but are you?" 

Bringing his hands up to cradle Blair's face, he smiled. "How could I not be happy? By setting right the wrongs my father committed, I have accomplished my lifelong goal. My senses are finally within my control so I no longer fear my own madness." 

James drew his thumbs across Blair's cheeks, wiping away a wayward tear as his voice lowered to a whisper. "And, most important of all, I found you. Your smile is the sunshine that lights my every day, your laughter the song that speaks right to my heart. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love. I never dreamed I could be this happy." 

James pulled him closer and, when Blair looked up at him, he startled the young man by taking his lips in a kiss filled with passion. Ending the kiss with a nibble on each corner of Blair's mouth, he smiled at the expression on his lover's face. 

He watched Blair's startled expression became one of passion. James thought he could even see the color change from their usual smoky blue to a shade of royal velvet. 

"Please James" Blair's voice trembled. "You are the one man with power over a king. A power that shall never be revealed outside of this chamber, but one so strong it shall move us all the days of our lives." 

James knelt before the man, not the King, and gazed up into the face he loved more than life itself. 

"Take me Blair," he whispered, "make love to me." 

Blair stepped back. He had lived all these days on the memory of James inside of him. Now that the danger was past and his place was secure he was not sure if James had wanted him as before. But he could see it in his lover's eyes, his ardor was not diminished. 

Kneeling in front of James, he took the larger man's hands and held them first to his lips, kissing and nibbling on a few fingers before placing them around his own waist. Pressing their bodies together from knee to chest, Blair kissed his lover. He wanted to show James they were equals within this room. He slowly began untying the laced up garments that enrobed his lover. James began the same process and soon both men knelt in just their long muslin shirts. 

James ran his fingers through the thick hair that decorated Blair's chest. He lowered his face, nuzzling his chin against it like a large cat. Blair would swear later he had almost heard James purr. Lips traveled from one dusky nub to the other causing Blair to tip his head back and pant. 

Willing himself upright again Blair took the lead, pulling the last remaining fabric from the smoothly muscled body before him. James eyes were fixed on the kiss-swollen lips of his lover so that he nearly lost himself upon their surface. But Blair's touch brought him back. Blair stood, pulling James to his feet, and directed the larger man to the bed before them. Sheets of the softest silk caressed their heated flesh as they climbed between the covers. 

It seemed even more forbidden that they do this as daylight streamed through the tall windows of the King's chambers, but neither man cared. 

As they came together again in the bed their kisses were almost unending, trailing across each other's faces and necks, leaving marks of passion that high ruffled collars and brocade would later cover. Hands roamed and caressed. 

James encircled Blair's cock with a firm grip and elicited a gasp. A deep rumble of a chuckle and a twinkle in the sky-blue eyes took the King by surprise as well. His serious Blessed Protector had a sense of humor after all. 

Smiling in return, Blair turned away to access a small secret chamber located in the ornate headboard of the royal bed. Turning back to James, he held a flask of sweet oil. James looked at this with amazement. 

"How?" 

"I've spent enough sleepless nights in this chamber alone. Now hush and turn on your side so I can make love to you." 

"No Blair, I want to see your face as you take me, as you make me your only love." 

The passion and heat he found in James' eyes nearly melted his soul. Moving between the larger man's thighs, he coated two fingers with the fragrant oil. He rubbed them across the opening of his lover's body and James gasped at the sensation. Pouring more oil directly on his erection he hissed as the cool oil met his heated flesh. He dared only a quick caress with his own hand to disburse the oil lest he gain completion too quickly. 

Making sure James was ready he leaned over to kiss him. They tasted each other's passion on lips and tongues as Blair pressed for entry to James' body. Only a moment of pain passed across the handsome face and then he smiled. 

"More Blair, I want to feel all of you," he panted. "Please, harder!" 

Blair pushed and soon he was fully sheathed in his lover. The heat of James' body welcomed his flesh and he hated to leave, but the need to move became too great. Retreating only an inch or two, he quickly returned and then repeated the movement. This was amazing. Now he knew the reason for the look of sheer ecstasy that James had worn when they had first made love. 

James was in heaven. He never felt so full, and yet the sensation was not painful. As if there was an itch deep inside of his body that only Blair could reach and he was, oh God, he was and it was wonderful. He pushed hard as Blair surged towards him and had to cry out as a beautiful thrill bloomed in his body and gooseflesh spread across his arms and chest. 

"Again," he cried. "Oh God, Blair, please! Again!" 

Blair fell forward, capturing James' mouth and, with his tongue, began to match the thrusts of his body. Again and again, he pounded into the willing flesh, wanting, needing to get closer, become one with his heart's desire. He felt James grab his hair, wrapping large hands in his chestnut curls and arching his body to meet Blair's every movement. 

Suddenly, with his cries muffled in the kiss, James came, his essence pulsing between them. A moment later, Blair cried out and, with a final thrust, found release in his lover's body. 

Breathing heavily, Blair withdrew to lie next to James, wrapping his arms around the still shuddering body, placing a gentle kiss on the damp forehead. 

"I never thought..." James began, then stilled, still trying to regain his composure. 

"Never thought what, my love?" 

James turned in the circle of Blair's arms to face the man who was his world. "I never thought that I would be here, that I could be this happy. I didn't think that it was possible." 

Blair smiled. "With you, all things are possible, My Captain." 

James chuckled "With you, I believe it, My King. But what now? Where do we go from here?" 

Blair sat up a bit, leaning on his elbow, looking down at his lover. "We continue as we have been this past week. We, all of us, spend our days, working to improve the lives of the people. Then we, you and I, spend our nights making passionate love." 

"Oh, we do, do we?" James smiled at the sparkle in Blair's eyes 

"Yes. I can even have a Royal Proclamation written, declaring it so." 

"Hmmm. A law saying that I must love you?" James shook his head as he drew Blair back into his arms. "I don't think that will be necessary. It seems that I love you without even trying." 

"And I love you the same." Blair admitted as he snuggled against his lover's body. "But I may have that proclamation drawn up...just in case." 

The End 

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End The Reluctant Prince by Shamaness: brianna441@aol.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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